Confessions of a Non-Shopaholic

This is a guest post brought to you by Christina at blogectomy.com.  She has a fun and entertaining way of sharing her thoughts on a topic we all have to  deal with, whether we like it or not -- shopping.  Thanks, Christina, for taking the time to write!
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I can do an entire month's worth of grocery shopping in less than thirty minutes. I have a list and do NOT deviate from that list for anything. If I need cereal and it's not on the list, unless it throws itself off the shelf and blocks my path I will not stop for it. When my husband grocery shops with me, he goes up and down each aisle and scans for what we need. This is the most effective way to shop but it takes longer which means we stay in the store longer, which is why he is not allowed to go with me; because my number one goal in shopping is to get out of the store. I call it a talent; my husband calls it a developing disorder.
 
At thirty-two years old I celebrate the fact that I have the option of shopping without the following items:
 
A. A Rascal
 
B. A Gopher
 
C. A Walker
 
D. A payment option of either rolled nickels or a checkbook
 
I also celebrate the fact that I can still dress myself and eat with meals with forks. The simple fact of the matter is that I really hate shopping...for anything. I did in my teens, twenties and will into my forties and fifties.
 
I've witnessed the horror. I've seen clothing shopping turn seemingly logical and sane women into raving lunatics running around the store with reckless abandon. I've witnessed them making a mad rush at the sales racks, fighting over sweaters and throwing sucker punches at other shoppers over the last pair of wedges (the shoes, not the potatoes) that may or may not go with anything in their closets. These women will strangle you with the last pair of skinny jeans if it means they can have them. I simply just don't care enough about clothes to concern myself with this. Also I bruise very easily.
 
Unfortunately this usually presents a problem when I actually have to wear something specific, and by specific I mean "not jeans." This has become a growing issue in our household in the past couple years. My husband has a variety of clothes and is always ready to go anywhere regardless of the occasion. I, on the other hand, have a pair of slacks that have not been ironed since my college graduation. I don't even know if they are clean, or where they are...actually, I don't even know if I have them anymore.
 
I know there will come a time when I can no longer do the little things like shopping. Someday I will look back on sale insanity and express lines with great fondness. I should celebrate this privilege along with going to the bathroom and bathing. I know I'm not old but let's face it, thirty is a lot closer to sixty than twenty was and someday, in the not too distant future, finding my only pair of slacks won't really matter much because I will have forgotten that I'm wearing them, backwards and inside out.