hot sweat and blurry eyes

I spent Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and today with my grandparents. I don't particularly like my grandparents, really.
I do enjoy their town- a little, tourist-y type place off the coast of North Carolina. We went Black Friday shopping. One of the shops carries old-women type things in the front- Not Your Daughter's Jeans, jewelry, Vera Bradley items- but in the back there's a particular display that caught my eye.
Lace skivvies, rolled up in the most delightful fashion arranged artfully around a demolished sink. I stared at them for a moment, pretending to look at the display of bath ice cream next to it, and decided that I must have one of those undergarments.
Of course, there's that tiny little problem of my parents wanting to know exactly what I'm buying all the time- not because they're worried I've bought drugs or something, but because they're actually interested in my purchases.
So I left the shop empty handed, though I was still preoccupied with thoughts of pink lingerie. We proceeded to two other stores, but when we reached the third I told my mother I wanted to go back to the other store. Predictably, she asked me what I wanted to buy. I lied and told her I was going to buy her a Christmas present. At which point I left and made the short trek back to the other store.
Once I entered, I was consumed with guilt. Should I buy a pair? What the hell was I going to do with them, anyway? I opened my wallet and found that I had fifty five dollars. I decided to actually buy my mother a present, and I settled on a piece of jewelry. Unfortunately, none of the pieces of jewelry in the store were below thirty dollars- and the underwear in question were themselves thirty dollars. You don't need to be a math genius to know that I didn't have the cash.
Now free to examine the display a little closer, I noted that while the bikinis (bikinis, for those of us not proficient in the language of women's apparel, are not only a risque type of swimsuit, but also a cut of underwear) were 30, the thongs were 20.
I selected a pink one and grabbed the first normal looking piece of thirty-dollar jewelry I could find. Liberated, I placed them both on the counter. Again consumed with guilt, I hastily told the completely disinterested saleswoman that they were both gifts- and I guess I was only half lying. Only 25% lying if you count the vickies as a present for myself.
Secretly thrilled, I leave the store short fifty dollars.
And that is the abrupt end of the story of the most interesting thing I did over Thanksgiving break.