Driving Home

I went furniture shopping the other day. Four stores in a two hour time block. I know exactly what I'm looking for, the problem is that my friends can't remember the where they bought the sofa they gave me. The sofa I want an exact replica of. Creamy white, curved, overstuffed sectional. Not too big, not too small, just right, only the fabric is beginning to desintigrate after years of loving.
All those showrooms must have gone to my head, because I couldn't seem to get into the right lane to access the interstate and get home. Do I want to go North or South? Spartanburg or Columbia? By the time I figured it out, it was too late. I was doomed to continue heading into the evils of Friday afternoon shopping traffic. Two red lights later (the same red light, mind you), I turned into a shopping center to turn around. Stopped in a store for 2 minutes. Nothing was on sale, so I kept moving. This time, I knew that I needed to be in the right hand lane to access the interstate. I never made it. All the sudden I found myself back at the entrance to the shopping center, in the left hand turning lane. (No, there was no alchohol involved, just me in all my glory) While waiting for the light, I spoke with myself, argued with myself, berated myself and still don't know how I got myself in such an amazing situation.