And this one:



And I was sold.

Unfortunately, such a thing is not easy to come by. I am in love with this little Anthropologie number, as modelled so elegantly by Lauren of I'm Better in Real Life, but not only is it quite pricey, the UK site no longer has it in my size and the Edinburgh store is yet to open. Sigh. I am also quite enamoured with this one (which is, in fact, The Actual Skirt from the third picture above), but it's $158 plus international postage - I'm not that enamoured with it. Then there was this one - alas, too pale. This one seemed perfect, but then when I went into the shop it was actually orange. ORANGE? Pfft. Who wants an orange skirt? Not me.

I always do this. For normal people, shopping consists of three simple steps.

1. Go into shop.

2. Find something you like.

3. Buy it.

Easy, yes? No. For me it's more like the five stages of (shopping) grief.

1. Denial. I see a picture of an item of clothing (or just make it up entirely in my head) and become utterly convinced that it is sitting in a shop or a warehouse somewhere, just waiting for me to find it. It must be out there, I can't be the only one who is looking for a yellow skirt/navy-and-white-striped bandeau swimsuit/coral and purple 50s prom dress/insert random item of clothing here. All I have to do is look, and I will find it. It. Is. Out. There.

2. Anger. This is the stage where I am most likely to find myself standing in the middle of a shop clutching an orange skirt and wailing to noone in particular, "but WHY is it orange?!". I can also be found storming through shops with a laser-like focus, swooping on every scrap of yellow that catches my eye, moving on in disgust when I realise it's a yellow dress or a yellow top. I mean, is it so HARD to make a yellow skirt? Is it so WRONG that, after a working week spent stuffing myself into uncomfortable tailoring and endless shades of grey, all I want is a little piece of swirly twirly sunshine? Is it TOO MUCH TO ASK?!?

3. Bargaining. Maybe if I just wait until they've had their next delivery. Maybe if I buy a white skirt and dye it yellow. Maybe if I say nice things about her blog, Lauren will give me hers. Maybe I could make one? (*snort*) Maybe I could justify the $158-plus-international-postage if I don't buy any other clothes ever! Maybe maybe maybe...

4. Depression. What's the point in even looking for a yellow skirt any more? We're probably not even going to get a summer in Scotland and everyone in California just wears shorts anyway. I'm too pale and blonde to pull off yellow, I probably wouldn't even fit into a yellow skirt, oh this whole thing has just been a big pointless waste of time I am the worst shopper ever I'm never buying another piece of clothing ever again.

5. Acceptance. I think I'll just buy that white skirt instead.

Image: 1. What I Wore 2. Karen Walker Spring 2011 via style.com 3. EmersonMade

Well. That was a total balls-up. For those of you who aren't bloggers or twitterers and were wondering why blogland was so eerily quiet on Friday, it's because Blogger, the Google site that hosts gazillions of blogs (including this one), had a monumental meltdown and deleted a whole load of posts and comments and prevented anyone from posting or commenting on anything at all. Thanks, Blogger. Thanks a lot.

All of which meant that the post I had planned for Friday spent the weekend languishing in my drafts folder. It was going to be a pre-emptive thank you to one of my dearest friends for something wonderful she did for the Hubster and I this weekend. THANKS AGAIN, BLOGGER.

But actually, it's better that I have to post it today, because who knows how the weekend could have gone? It could have been an unmitigated disaster, and then I would have had to publish a retraction, and it all could have gotten very awkward. (Actually, in some ways, the weekend was a bit of a disaster - my new shoes broke, we nearly ran out of petrol in the middle of nowhere, Fin cracked a rib - but we're not talking about that. Especially not the running-out-of-petrol part. Let's just say the atmosphere in the car at that point was t.e.n.s.e.)

Anyway, back to the thank you part. This post is a way of saying a big, huge, ginormous thank you to my lovely friend Kristen. (By posting an embarrassing old photo of her. You're welcome, K.)

No. It was never as bad as this.

So long, Topshop. It was fun while it lasted.

Lots of love,
Apparently Deeply Unfashionable Shopper


All images via Topshop

First, there was the stitch. I have been bizarrely plagued by a stitch in my right side. At first it would hit after around seven minutes. I tried running through it - BAD idea. I tried leaving more time between eating and running, which helped to keep me going for about twenty minutes, but I'm pretty sure you have to be a bit whizzier than me to run 5.4 miles in twenty minutes. Finally the insanely fit Ellie gave me some good breathing advice which has helped a lot - the evil stabby stitch still tries to get me, but I know how to smack it back down. Take that, stitch! So, that should be me sorted, right?

WRONG.

No sooner is one problem fixed than another pops up in its place. Next it was the air conditioning in the gym breaking down, which, combined with the crrrazy sunny weather we had in April, had me close to passing out on the treadmill. Not cool (literally, ha). Yeah, I know, I should run outside, but I pay good money for that damn gym membership and I'm going to bloody well use it! At least until I remember to cancel it.

Then I made the foolish, foolish decision to wear my red cowboy boots to lunch (why oh why?). The boots were bought on an ebay impulse after seeing one too many pictures of awesome ladies rocking red boots (and, um, also this four-year-old. What can I say, I like her style).

My cowboy boots were £10. £10! A bargain, I hear you cry! But are they a bargain if every time you wear them you end up with blisters the size of 50 pence pieces on your heels? I mean Every. Single. Time? Including the time I wore them on Saturday, just two weeks before the race?? Yeah, thought not. I think I might have spent another £10 on plasters alone.

I still needed to train though (especially after I took a week-long extended break from running to, erm, basically watch the Royal Wedding and eat Easter eggs) so I layered up the plasters and headed to the gym. Thankfully my feet were actually okay. No chafing. Such a relief. I just wish I could say the same about my *ahem* chest area, which has now randomly decided it is no longer compatible with my usual *ahem* support arrangements. Let's just say it was not the most pleasant run I've ever had. Ouch.

So, change of sports bra, but tonight my stupid left knee has come out of nowhere and started to hurt, AND I got blisters on the soles of my feet where I have never ever had them before. What. The. Fuck???

Oh and as if this all wasn't enough, it now transpires that I'm not allowed to run with my iPod during the marathon, so instead of my carefully crafted motivational playlist (yes, Kelly Clarkson is on it), all I will hear as I slog along will be the sound of my own pathetic wheezing and maybe a few people asking me to move so they can run past me. Sigh.

I would say the Universe was trying to tell me something (again), directing me to ditch the dreaded run and instead engage in a pizza-fest of epic proportions.

And then, of course, the Universe goes and reminds me why I'm running in the first place. Raising money for people with cancer, bla bla bla. The usual. But there is a reason even more serious, more profound, than that:

It's LESS THAN SIX WEEKS UNTIL BIKINI TIME, PEOPLE!

Eek. Better get running.

All images via the etsy seller, BrassPaperclip.