I hate shopping. Have I mentioned this before. I hate shopping. I HATE SHOPPING.

I dropped off the GP in early evening and swung by the mall because I’d decided that I need a new pair of jeans. I don’t really even have a pair of jeans. I have pseudo jeans, bought out of desperation when I really needed jeans but couldn’t find what I really wanted. They’re not really jean material, and they feel flimsier than jeans.

What I want is jeans that (a) fit me and (b) don’t look used. Lane Bryant has jeans that fit me. But, they didn’t have the normal jean colour in my size, just the faded colour that make them look used. The saleswoman asked if I wanted her to check with other area stores, and I said sure.

So, the SouthCoast Plaza store assured her that they had the right jeans in the right colour in the right size. I came home, collected Ken (“There’s a Baja Fresh nearby, honey”), and headed down there. It’s a bit of a jaunt, and during rush hour, but it was worth it to get the right jeans.

However, they’d lied. The ones they’d set aside for me were black. And not dark, honest black, either. The jeans I want don’t come in that colour. It’s an iffy black, not quite faded, but not quite true, either. Ken preferred the iffy black to the stonewashed denim, but I was still waffly. I talked to one supremely unhelpful saleswoman (she knew nothing), and then to another who was nice and at my suggestion started calling other stores. Eventually the Buena Park store said they had them, and would set them aside for me.

So we ate, and then drove all the way to Buena Park (which is in the opposite direction from home than where we were). We squeaked in just before 9 p.m., raced to the store (which wasn’t comfortable, as I was full of Burrito Ultimo [steak])…

…and they’d set aside the stonewashed denim jeans.

The saleswoman was extremely apologetic, which I appreciated. This store doesn’t have _any_ of the regular denim, so she hadn’t even realised there was a different colour. That’s okay; not her fault. Ken started to suggest that I buy the black ones, and I just said, “I want to go home.”

I checked online; while it would have been worth my lost time and the gas I used to pay the expedited shipping, it’s only guaranteed to arrive on Tuesday, not at a particular time—and we’re leaving Tuesday afternoon.

I’ll check the store in Ventura this weekend, and if they don’t have the ones I want, I’ll just buy the iffy black ones. Fuck it.

I know it’s partly my own fault for not deciding I needed jeans until the last minute. But once I knew what size I needed, I had no interest in running all over fucking Orange County for nothing.

Gods I hate shopping. I hate the generic-ness of malls, I hate mall shoppers, and I hate shopping.

(I know, I know: Tell us how you really feel, Dayle!)

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Otherwise, it’s been a quiet day. Fixed GP typos (Cat proofed it last night). Made some more trip plans. And took Charlie to the vet _again_, because several of her nail beds are infected _again_. We may have to board her part of the time we’re gone; it depends on whether Cat’s willing to wrestle her down twice a day to give her antibiotics and clean her toes. Remember this is the Cat that loves only me. She tolerates Ken. She accepts that Cat lives in the house, but really prefers Cat keep her distance unless she’s providing food and water.

Gack, I say. Gack.

I’ve been going through many books on Britain so that we have a comprehensive list of where we want to go and what we want to see. Of course there’s more in Northern Wales that I want to do and see than we’ll have time for, so triage will be necessary. The train up Snowdon and a couple of Llewellyn’s castles are at the top of the list.

It really, really irks me that I can’t find our London A to Zed. Or our Rough Guide to Wales. Or, for that matter, our AA maps.

Still, I’m very excited! :-)