Next to Nothing

My lovely friend Emma often shops in Next. I know. And yes. I do. But somehow, miraculously, she always looks great in what she wears from there. And a naughty, knowing twinkle appears in her eye when I squeal "Ooo, I like your skirt/top/trousers, etc.! Where is it/are they from?" And she hesitates. And I know it is coming. And I want to take back the compliment, but it is out there and there is nothing I can do except accept the truth as graciously as possible. Because the answer is: "It's from Next."

Dammit, I hate those words. I HATE THEM. Particularly if said item is super cute, and I would consider wearing it myself.

BUT IT IS FROM NEXT!!!! HOW CAN THIS BE???? YES, I KNOW I AM SHOUTING!!!!

And the worst thing is that I think she has ground me down. And I am holding you partly to blame too.

Because I saw this in a magazine:


(Image via Next)

And I really like it. (It was styled waaaay nicer than this.) And I want to go and buy it. I want to walk into the third circle of my personal hell, and purchase this item. I would obviously prefer not to have to do that, but I think I need it to be mine.

Today is a dark, dark day in my life. And I hold you both accountable. You have done this to me. Bitches!