I hate shopping. It’s not something I find relaxing or cathartic or most of all, fun. To me it is a necessary evil required only when I realize that the clothes in my closet have wafted into another time dimension. It’s usually prompted when I come downstairs in some outfit and my daughter will say something casual like, “Are those shoulder pads?” Then I have to go to the M-A-L-L. I find it much easier now (and fewer returns) if I take my daughter with me. She has an innate gift for fashion and can pull a few things together and look like just she stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. She did not get this gift from me.