Today, Friday being my do-things-around-the-house day, I
decided to tidy my chest of drawers.
Every time I have pulled open a drawer during the past few weeks (okay
months) I have had to dig deeper and deeper in order to find the item which I
need. Each time I promise myself that I
am going to tidy the drawers. I fully
intend to do so … until I turn away and promptly forget about doing so. I have the attention span of a wisp of smoke
when it comes to chores.
So today as I stood shoving socks into one of the drawers I
realised that I had two choices: tidy the drawers or break the drawers by
pushing more clothing into them. Now I
am not renowned for being the wisest of creatures but I do have a few granules
of common sense and some small, rarely spotted, degree of financial
wisdom. With a sigh I began to pull the
items from the draw.
Socks were followed by t-shirts ( the high fashion statement
of gardeners ), jerseys that I had forgotten I owned and then came the thought -
I might
be a sleep walking drinker.
The reason for this thought is because of what I found in my
drawers. Clearly I have been binge
drinking and doing on-line shopping in my sleep. This means that I also receive packages
whilst in some stage of unconsciousness because I have no recollection of
purchasing some of the items that I found in my chest of drawers. Either that or I am suffering from memory loss
brought on by outrageous shopping decisions that I have now blanked out.
I expected to find things that I had forgotten about but I never anticipated what I did find. The first item was a rather bright crimson blouse, silk, and
very Mao. Then there was a deep pink
sleeveless top which would make any daughter lunge for anything with sleeves to
throw on me. I stared at them in amazement.
A skirt lay beneath the crimson blouse. It was lovely material but about thirty years
ago size wise. I shook my head. The next item was a very loud blouse. I mean the sort of blouse that would make
person gasp – not in a good way. My
hands reached into the drawer with caution.
I drew out another skirt, this one paying homage to the paisley passions
of bygone eras in colours that spoke of a deep alcoholic haze.
The items lay on my bed in a pile that spoke of the kind of fashion mishaps that one would expect from someone who had been isolated from mainstream society for at least four decades. Even a hippie on a commune that had lost contact with the outside world in 1969 would have thought the clothes anything other than odd. I felt rather like an archaeologist at the site of an exciting, if bewildering, dig.
Upon further inspection I decided that the clothes were colour phases. There was pink, light blue, dark blue, blue, deep pink ... black, army green, and a motley assortment of mismatched tops that were in utterly poor taste. Not even moderately questionable taste. A good friend would have stopped me from buying any of them. I obviously need to start shopping with a friend. A good friend.
Sadly my alcohol allergy excludes the sleep drinking and shopping explanation. Sigh. Which means that I have to accept that I have less taste, in attire I hasten to amend, than even I thought I had. Then I caught sight of a tag. The price tag read 4.50$.
Aha!
Relief!
I knew who to blame - Consignment Stores! With their low prices, almost guilt free recycling of clothes they had gulled me into purchasing items that were bargains. Or so I thought as I paid for them. And as I unpacked them. And as I washed them. And as I folded them and put them away - never to be worn.
Sigh.
I put them into a black bag ready for their return trip to - a consignment store.
I am running an personnel advertisement for a friend to go shopping with me.
Apparently my granules of common sense have been a little exaggerated. As to financial wisdom - I'm busy applying for a job at a brokerage firm. I hear they don't require any!
PS: If you want to see how much lack of financial wisdom we, the tax payers, have paid for go to:
http://projects.propublica.org/bailout/list
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