writer's moll

There's no excuse for giving up on a New Year resolution in January and one of mine - to overcome my shopping aversion - has been pushed to the top of the list by a friend, bemoaning the forthcoming closure of one of her favourite shops, saying "ah, but you don't care cos you don't like shopping". Now I like nice things as well as the next person, but to get those magical goodies, I must cross the Forest of Fear, battling the paralysis of indecision to escape its evil clutches, drink from the Pool of Truth to see my real size and shape and meet the scornful challenge of the Wicked Witch of the North observing my imperfections. So, it's not that I don't like shopping, I just can't do it. It's much easier to convince myself that I don't do it because it's boring, materialistic and self-indulgent. There, I've taken the first step - admitted the truth - and it wasn't actually that hard, so I'm off to the shops to buy a fantastic pair of boots - just as soon as I've had a cup of coffee, polished the silver and practiced conjugating some French verbs.