Let me set the scene: it’s the weekend before one of your besties hen do, and you need to go to town to get tinted moisturiser. Emergency! I’m as white and fluffy as a marshmallow – fake tan always fixes things doesn’t it? (I wouldn’t know this will be my first time using it. Pray for me.) Monster child is happily toddling alongside you gigantic sausage roll wedged in his mouth, this is my moment, breeze in and out of Boots before the sausage roll is discarded.
*warning contains bad language* (geordie shore style warning!)
All you ladies know what it’s like going into a store like Boots, you go in for one thing come out with a bag full. Berccoa, yes hangover cures will definitely be required, holy shit! £9 for a tube of fizzy tablets! Bugger that, I’m sure there’s some dioralyte in the medicine cupboard. Foundation – other side of the store, what’s the cheapest that i can grab quickly but still looks like it will do the job? Right, tinted moisturiser – I’ve been recommended one so I’m scanning the shelves and putting back all the bottles of stretch mark cream the toddler is building a tower with. *Ah shit, everyone wants to look for tinted moisturiser at the same time as me!* Rein in the toddler by sweeping the tower closer to the push chair with your foot as several ‘fake tan experts’ swoop in, reaching infront of me “excuse me” coming from every angle. I can feel my heart is pounding, I wedge the monster between my leg and the push chair. “Not much room in down here” a really clever Boots assistant says walking past – yeah thanks I’m stuck in the middle of the isle, I swear the whole town wants fucking tinted moisturiser!
If I wanna get out I’ve gotta find what I’ve come for, scan shelves, commence sweating, I can’t find it, I’ve looked over the shelves at least 20 times now; ah monster has found the one and placed his sausage roll in its gap! Crouch down to look at the price and some fucking bint is holding her basket over my head whilst looking at the shelf above me! By this time I’m really hot, heart is going nuts, sweating like mad, I’ve dropped my (spray can??) moisturiser, my fists have clenched – perfect timing for someone else to kick the pram into me. GET ME OUT! NOW! OUT OUT OUT!!!!!!! I stand up smacking my head on this stupid woman’s basket, she doesn’t even look at me, abandon pram in isle and rush off down the incontinence isle which is thankfully empty. I’m suprised at my self that I’m not on slumped on the floor bawling my eyes out – couple minutes later I’ve calmed down enough to think “shit where’s the child?”
“Mummeeeee Thomas toofbrusss!” Ah there he is, waving the massive electric toothbrush box at me with Daddy and pushchair in tow. Thank fuck, I’m out of Boots quicker than Usain Bolt and into the fresh air and the other half has gone to get my moisturiser. We then have to leave town, tunnel vision marching to the car, I can’t cope, need to shut myself in my bedroom for an hour and come back down to earth.
Anxiety is a bitch, I’m glad I don’t get it just walking through town any more; it ruins your confidence, self esteem and your day. I’m shattered. I’m scared for next weekend, though I know I’ll be ok, the excitement has gone for today.