How not to buy underwear.

As a member of the female sex of the human species, I am compelled to buy underwear. However, I do not buy underwear regularly and hide it amongst other items to be purchased. No, I bulk buy my underwear once a year or so. This works out fine most times.

Today, on the other hand, I bought my underwear from a supermarket. I would normally have gone through the self-checkout, but every single one was occupied and we (my mother and I) were in a rush and instead we went to the nearest checkout.

This is the first time I have been to that supermarket and seen a checkout that does not have a queue of people with trolleys full of miniscule items that must all be blipped individually. This was also the first time I have seen a checkout at that supermarket that is manned by a remotely attractive member of the opposite sex. And this guy was a tad more than ‘remotely attractive’.

My mother did not help matters by steering me towards that checkout while laughing maniacally.

Nor did she help by making comments afterwards about how maybe the bras in question didn’t even fit me.

I didn’t make eye contact with the checkout guy once.

Now, I realise that I am probably blowing this all out of proportion because I’m a teenager. But I’m a teenager. How many of you remember being a teenager and being hideously embarrassed by the most ridiculous of stuff? Because it stinks.

A friend and I were having a chat about getting old. My friend is helping to deal with her grandmother and we agreed that there is nothing to look forward to about getting old. Nothing.

In light of today’s events, I have changed my mind. There is one good thing about getting old. It’s the complete lack of shame you develop and the ability to not blush, because blushing is a sure-fire way to make a situation ten times more awkward.

 

In other news, I lost my second L-Plate in two days today. I am pleased that the sun is out, but can the wind go away. Please? Please?

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