smooth

Today, the amazing Sal asked her readers on her blog if they had buyer's remorse. My reply was something along the lines of OMIGOD yes; I am the epitome of the remorseful buyer.

Normally my remorse with stylistic purchases works along the lines of finding the teensiest tiniest fault within my purchase.

For example this bag which I fell in love with, had the perfect occasion to wear it to, and was a complete bargain. Having walked out of the shop and down the road to the market, I took it out to gaze at it lovingly. I noticed the tiniest of marks on the bag. Cue: my friend begging me to ignore it because she desperately needed the toilet, me waiting outside the toilets getting so impatient that I went down there, washed my hands and came back up, me practically running down the road to be greeted by a rather puzzled shopkeeper who rubbed at the mark and pointed that it had come off. And that, hello, goatskin is fragile, and that maybe I shouldn't be using a magnifying glass to inspect it.

Or maybe my well-earned gorgeous owl necklace, which I put it on as I stepped out of the shop and strode along the path brightly. As I strode, I felt the pendant bounce against my chest. WHAT was I thinking, I sighed to myself, buying a necklace which thwacks you as you walk? How ridiculous I must look...

I could go on, and on, and on. Really I could. The September Vogue issue I finally bought yesterday after months of waiting (more on that this weekend, actually!). The umbrella I purchased as the heavens opened as I stepped out of the office today - and it's not like I even have another umbrella (which isn't broken).

It came to a head this lunchtime though, when in the roasting sun (yes I am talking about the same day; remember this is England we are talking about here, where all the seasons can make an appearance, and indeed today did make an appearance, in one day) I noticed a van selling smoothies and frozen yoghurt. Originally I was going to go for a cheaper juice, but I could not resist the allure of a smoothie added protein which would be perfect for my upcoming final aerobics class. I was absolutely sold when the cute smoothie guy said he could remove the pineapple ingredients no problem, making up my favourite combo of strawberries and bananas and yoghurt.

And my god did my heart begin to race when I realised I didn't have enough coins and they couldn't take cards. My smoothie was already mixing. It was at this point that buyer's remorse set in - at the point when you no longer really have a choice. It was like that with the bag too; I had already tried it on, left the shop, tried it on again; it was now or never. And the necklace shop, where the poor lady had fastened onto my neck almost every necklace in the shop and I had exclaimed how much I loved this one. And the umbrella, when as soon as I stepped onto the streets, the steady downpour began to quieten to a softer drizzle.

Fortunately the lovely man offered that I could take the smoothie and give them my money later on in my lunch break. Sweating in the heat, as soon as I took the first sip as I walked along to the cash machine I was sold. All my reservations about price (steep) and calories (probably not even that steep, but what can I say; I'm neurotic) melted away. I felt a warm glow as I handed the man the money and he smiled and said 'what an honest customer!'. Somehow, choosing now, drinking now, paying later and drinking some more seemed to reverse the effects of buyer's remorse.

Or maybe it was just a really good smoothie.