This is me (I wish!) the devil-may-care go-getter who gets an idea in her head - okay, sometimes via someone else's verbal enthusiastics or the telly or something I read in a book, but an idea nonetheless, and decides to... bloody jolly well go and do it!
And so there I am. There. Up there having bloody jolly well gone and done it. And then this weird feeling starts to creep through me, starting at the toes generally, oddly. Perhaps that's where the 'itchy feet' syndrome gets it's name - anyone else's "OMG, WTF have I done?" start at the toes? Does me.
Then up through the legs, up to the belly - which lurches about dramatically and alerts me to the fact I'm either probably very hungry or have already eaten something which now wishes it's presence felt on the other side of the 'Ladies' door. Please. (Also a very good Escape route and perfectly valid reason for abandoning original brilliant idea and totally legitimate if anyone starts to accuse me of wimping out).
Which twitchy, itchy, general feeling of disquiet and unease ends up in the brain and then I have a decision to make - "fight or flight"?
You'd think wouldn't you, that I'd embarked on an idea of drastic, dangerous proportions which could quite easily result in global brain-melt if my plan went at all awray...well, wouldn't you?
Reader, I shamefully admit I was standing in the till queue at TK Maxx wondering if the shoes and handbag I'd spent the past 3 hours deliberating over were, actually, the best ones for the job. Even after having spent 30 minutes at a window making sure both items matched to the point of sun-blindness.
I mean, did James Bond ever wonder to the point of frozen panic if he had a fourteen day return policy on his spiked loafers or death-ray biro?
I have to get a grip, I really do.
Either a grip or some kind of Guardian Angel with retail savvy.