My Name Is Wittyburg, and I Have a Problem
I have a serious addiction, people. It drags me out of my lowest lows, and it elevates me to my highest highs. It comforts and quiets me (the latter being a difficult task, as many of you know). What is this addiction? Shopping.
Others may scoff at retail therapy, but I believe it to be very real. Like, frighteningly real.
This weekend had me in quite a funk. I was working on some not-so-fun projects, my dear Bulls lost and the grocery shopping I’d put off for weeks resulted in me eating chips and salsa for breakfast. True story.
But yesterday, a good friend offered to take me along on an excursion to the outlets at Ellenton. Could my weak soul endure a 45-minute drive? What if I didn’t find anything good, and then it’d all be a giant waste (and even more depressing)?
I found strength after a tasty brunch at Ella’s — a meal worthy of its own post. We hit the road, and I played DJ, hoping the sounds of 90s pop would lift my spirits.
After just four hours of marathon shopping, my chutzpah was restored. I was smiling, even — dare I say — laughing.
For less than $180, I snagged 12 items in total from The Gap and Banana Republic:
- 2 pairs of comfy, but cute flats
- 2 pairs of opaque tights
- 2 braided, gilded headbands
- 2 office-appropriate dresses; 1 business and 1 casual
- 1 gray embellished T-shirt
- 1 gorgeous lace skirt (my splurge of the day)
- 1 cozy, but fitted hoodie
- 1 adorable grandpa sweater with current-obsession elbow patches
Browsing through other favorites (Nine West and Ann Taylor Loft) also helped. Of course, as the holidays approach, I’ll be cursing these stores when they fill with clamoring idiots. But for now, it was just what I needed.
My name is Wittyburg, and I have a