Changing rooms

I decided to make it to the stores. I had to buy a sweater and there was just no way out of it. The store I entered stretched out in front of me and the impact of the task ahead hit me in full force. I could already feel myself giving up slowly. Sweater I thought. Wool. Let's find wool. I wished the store would just make things simple for me and put all the wool in one single corner and let me just dive in for a moderately non-flashy weave of something that would last at least that winter. Of course, it is a private brand of hell where I find myself and there are sweaters classified by some mysterious formula, that suits most of the other shoppers around me of which I can make no sense. I find something that looks decent and is not priced the moon and a few stars.

I head to the changing rooms that makes the store look like a playground for kids.