I miss shopping with Donna.
Donna who always helps me search the entire store for the best possible items.
Donna who makes the sales assistants earn their dollars by sending them off for the right colours or sizes.
Donna who patiently waits outside change rooms and hangs everything back on the hangers.
Donna who demands to know what my black clothes to white clothes ratio is inside the change room.
Donna who pretends to believe me when I tell her that the ratio is 50:50. She knows it’s at least 90 black:10 white.
Donna who refuses to let me buy anything with stripes reminding me that the bulk of my wardrobe already contains a high proportion of striped clothing.
Donna who tells me that I’m under no circumstances allowed to buy the shiny silver ballet flats because they won’t be supportive enough.
Donna who doesn’t roll her eyes when I tell her I snuck back later to buy the ballet flats and that they do indeed really hurt my feet.
Everyone needs a Donna to go shopping with.
In fact, everyone just needs a Donna. But not my Donna. No way. She’s all mine.