Everyone and their dog must have decided to go shopping Saturday in the greater Oklahoma City area. You couldn’t stir em with a stick, even if you tried. Parking was at a premium at every mall, strip mall, big box store or super center.

Women went single file through rows and rows of sales shoe racks at a department store. You had to watch your step because some shoes, or a shoe, littered the floor, or teens who picnicked while they tried on tennis shoes.

One woman even commandeered a hunting party to find the mate to a high heel that she’d fallen in love with, and a young woman behind me made it a tight squeeze while I wiggled out of my slip-ons to try on a bargain boot.

There were shoe size signs on each aisle that probably started out right on the money that morning, but by afternoon it was a hit or a miss if you found the right size.

When a woman said everyone wears size 7 or 7-1/2 then I gave up the fight to find another pair of black shoes. Besides, it was getting a little too close for comfort there, so I went in search of jeans.

I walked in circles and saw designer names I’d never heard of and finally asked a clerk about my brand. She suggested the basement.

She was dead right, and my go-to-jeans were on sale, and in my size. That only happens once in a blue moon. Only trouble was they were decorated in rhinestones, but I found three pair without all that froufrou. They were regular $39 for $13 so it was a win-win since jeans are my year-round wardrobe.

Sunday was also a drop dead gorgeous day, and I don’t know what possessed me, but I got dressed. That’s a miracle in itself, but I also found my gardening gloves and hot pink pruning shears, on the first try.

Then I spent the better part of the afternoon fighting a losing battle with an overgrown rose bush. I didn’t break a sweat, but I decided to call it a day when there were so many prickly stems in the giant trash container that I couldn’t shut the lid.

No one had to rock me to sleep that night.

I slept in my clothes and didn’t shower until Monday. That’s when, low and behold, I discovered my right hand and arm looked like I’d gotten in a cat fight.

It’s a sure bet that retail therapy is better for me than gardening. That’s unless you count driving east from Hennessey on SH 51 to get there. To make a long story short: That highway sucks big time! op