Contactless Crimbo

I finally bit the bullet on Tuesday and braved another dimension; I entered a toy shop to do the Christmas shopping.

I jumped nervously as dinosaurs with flashing red eyes and necks that turned at unnatural angles ‘ROARRR!’ed at me from the shelves; I backed away from dolls that informed me they’d done a wee wee (good for them.  I wasn’t about to start cleaning it up, I have enough of that at home) and I refused to make eye contact with a certain very pushy cartoon character who told me in a whiny voice that he wanted to be my friend (VERY creepy).

I tried to stay calm and focus on the list in front of me (I know, impressed, aren’t you?) but I could feel myself getting a bit hot and sweaty at the thought of what to choose from the shelves upon endless shelves of toys bearing down on me.

HUGE yellow and red signs declared ‘20% off’, ‘Two for £15’ and ‘Don’t even LOOK at me, I’m FAR too expensive’ (OK, maybe not the last one, but SEVENTY POUNDS for some LEGO!  Come on).

Once I finally and painstakingly made my selection, I began the fun process of calculating the total and then working out how much of it I could put onto my husband’s card (as he had foolishly left it in my purse) and how much I’d have to fork out myself (if I even had my card on me.  It wouldn’t be the first time I’d got to the till and realised I had no way to pay – see ‘Memory Loss’).

Then I started the hour-long rummage through my new, very gorgeous but highly impractical ‘Mary Poppins’ bag, drawing out a standing lamp, coat stand and a chest of drawers (or a packet of tissues, a lip balm and a notepad) before I eventually landed on my purse.  Luckily I’m OK with remembering my husband’s PIN number for his card.  (My own?  Not so good.  Or so I keep telling him.)

When I finally got back after lugging the awkward shaped bags to the car, piling them in and then getting lost on the one way system, I sat down with a brew and saw this advert for Barclaycard:

I’d had my mobile in my pocket, so if I’d have had one of those nifty little ‘pay tag’ thingamabobs on my mobile I wouldn’t even have had to take my bag into the shop with me.  (Obviously it’s as important as one of my limbs and carries a spare nappy and wipes so I couldn’t have left the house without it altogether, that would just be silly).

Also, if I’d been able to pay with just a credit card sticker on my phone, I wouldn’t have risked the embarrassment and possible legal proceedings against me for nearly taking out someone’s eye with a flying tampon as I sifted through the receipts, chewing gum, keys and children’s toys on my arduous journey to ‘purse land’.

Although I’d obviously still be feeling traumatised and need several months of therapy about the talking toys, at least I’d look really ‘down with the kids’ (something I haven’t been for a VERY long time) just casually flashing my card at the machine whilst sauntering past.  I might even get away with wearing sunglasses inside (if only to avoid other people’s airbourne sanitary products). 🙂