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Are There Shops In Heaven?

I love shopping, too much my friends would say, and perhaps they are right.

You see, I may have a fatal addiction.

I’ve maxed out on my cards, my overdraft is bigger than the equity on my house, and my food cupboard wouldn’t keep a mouse alive. Conversely, all four of my wardrobes are overflowing and every door has more clothes on hangers than my local shop. There are half opened parcels everywhere. I just about have enough space on the kitchen table to drink a cuppa.

I have to do something to end my predicament.

The coffee tastes funny with the cocktail. I wonder if the angels will sympathise with a stupid shopaholic.

But what if I don’t finish the brew? I haven’t drunk enough to slip into the sleep of the everlasting. Think lady, think. There must be a way out.

I’ll take a bath, a nice hot one with bubbles. I always think better in the tub and maybe all my cares will wash away down the plug hole.

I slip into the foam allowing the suds to soothe and caress me.

How stupid am I to think that a double shot of whiskey in my coffee would send me to sleep?

I’m having a bad day.

The door bell rings.

No! No! Go away.

It rings again and again.

I can’t find my Egyptian cotton bathrobe.


Reluctantly, I walk to the door.

“Who is it?”

“The blind man.”

But he comes for his donation on a Tuesday, and this is Monday.

But is it?

My brain is concentrating on other things for all I can think of is my next shopping trip.

Forgetting my nakedness, I open the door.

“Nice tits love. Now, where do you want me to fit this gorgeous blind you ordered?”

“Uh! Oh!”


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