$

All this, for free!*

I went shopping this Friday, and didn't even take out my shpandi's.

Please ref. above for evidence thereof.
I didn't leave home.
I didn't log onto a computer.
I didn't use anything in my wallet.
I didn't transact.
I didn't shoplift.

How fucking cool is that? Mass shopping, and no guilt.

How, you say?

Bartering mate. Simple, mass bartering on the comfort of our [very 70's-looking brown shag rug] floor.

The Ozzie and I came home from work on Friday, poured ourselves a glass of South Africa's Tesco finest (piss in a bottle), and henceforth had a clean out of our cupboards. A girl gets bored with her dressage, and me in particular.

I've had a box of clothes sitting in a corner since they were delivered, and the flatmate before me also left a whole stack of clothes.

So we spread them out, on the lounge floor, and did a mass clothes swap.
This is my idea of heaven. Free clothes. And giving mine to someone else to wear.

As a result, she went to work wearing my old clothes today, and I went to work wearing hers.

I got boots, pumps, shirts, dresses, a jersey and a scarf out of it. All for free. Now this is why I moved into a shared house.

The problem is, we should've stopped there. But no, we threw ourselves into a continuum of retail purgatory.

I blame this on the Brit because he's away and I'm pining.

We hit the high streets on Saturday and blew a load of cash. I think I may have a problem. But basically hit the summer sales (fuck. Winter is a-coming and I'm shitting myself. Again, shopping all in lieu of the grand hibernation).

So our wardrobes are all tooled up and ready for combat.

For my sins, I had to visit the Chinese Doctor again. This time for acupuncture and 'cupping.'

Dude. Don't even ask.

It's when he sucks up sections of my back with this rubber cup, and leaves bruises. In order to 'detox.' After thrusting a needle into my scalp and abdomen, all the while saying, 'Kee KAH! Kee KAH!'

I think he was telling me to keep calm, but that doesn't working when you're yelling it in Cantonese, does it?

Then there was the tea. I'm on these putrid little viles of herbs and buck droppings already, now there is this simply appalling tasting tea that, I imagine, tastes like yak semen mixed with it's by-product.

It looks like this, and the teabag is about the size of the pillow I sleep on. Great for teabagging, not so great to consume. Twice a day.

It stinks.
It tastes like dog's balls.
It's altogether completely horrible.

This whole 'herbal, heal your life and body thing,' sucks balls, truth be told. And can I just say it's costing me a packet? The acupuncture was alright, his massage on the lower regions of my uterus was even alright. The tea and the Chinese is driving me beserk.

Time for my boy to come home from America now. I'm suffering. And it's affecting my bank balance.

*In exchange for my stuff.