NotHardUp1
What? Me? Really?
On Wednesday, I took a vacation day, just to stretch the 4th into a five day break, not to go anywhere, so a staycation if you want to use a meaningless but trendy term. As a matter of course, I cooked, gardened, ate out a few times, and shopped for undiscovered treasures at a couple of thrift stores.
I was saving a bunch. No airfare. No car rental. No Hotel. See how that works? FREE money!
The savings burning a hole in my pocket, I loaded my cart with justification and slightly mitigated glee.
The new with tags rack looked promising, and it was early, on July 5th, so I took my time and prowled the items, looking for my sizes. A dapper tweed coat caught my eye, so I tried it on and it fit. It was styled as a hunting jacket, for English or European gentlemen who killed something more than time. The labels inside told me it was a wool blend, and designed by some Italian who knew what Brits wanted.
Into the cart.
Another jacket, this one a worsted with a matching vest and a mesmerizing lavender and magenta paisleyed lining. Did I need another indigo jacket? Well, I was on vacation. If a man can’t enjoy his earnings, then why toil? It’s black, not indigo. Who can tell in this fluorescent twilight?
I tried it on. Perfect!
I tried the vest. Less than perfect, as it wouldn’t close, but I found the belt in back and loosened it. Acceptable. It was only to wear separately, as I wouldn’t wear both. And I could show off that silk. Gay? Damned straight, pardon the irony.
The tag was still pinned to the coat with the tiniest safety pin operable by human hands, even children’s. The name of the line meant nothing to me. But being on the “new” rack, it was priced $24.99. Even a cheap coat would be over $100, so done. Into the cart.
Sallying forth, a pair of unworn button-down short-sleeved shirts called. One was mint green, the other a pastel. Done. I would wear them to the office in the same week and dare Tom to ask about me repeating my wardrobe. Fool! They are not even the same color!
The dishes aisle. Five assorted ceramic or stoneware luncheon plates. For 99 cents apiece, they are a fraction of the terra cotta water catchers for my plants in pots, and colorful to boot. Done.
A beautiful brown serving bowl, finely glazed. Unused? Perhaps. Maker? Damned stickers ALWAYS cover the bottom, but this one had been vandalized and the price portion of the tag clawed away as someone before me had wanted to know also. But, would the store now sell it without the price on it? You know how that goes. Found a clerk. No problem. They can still see the color code on the remaining portion. Done. Into the cart.
Cookware? Let’s see. Oh, a pair of stainless sauté pans, graduated. I ran my fingers across the interiors. Not scratches. Beautiful nickel plating. One $4.99, one $5.99. Done.
Games. Rarely anything there. Wait. A small, squarish red box with large letters reading “Who Can Do It?” on the top and PARTY GAME around two sides. The reverse side explains the silly skills one card inside demands of the hapless drawer. It’s taped shut, so I buy it on faith.
The office and desk supply aisle isn’t a regular stop, but I’m on a roll. What is that big black canvas folio? Unzipping it, it’s a folio. Go figure. Has four dividers with stagger pockets to store all sorts of papers or prints or photos. I was about to move about seven hours’ drive in a few months, so this looked like a good way to protect a few dear items. As I turned the dividers, I could hear the plastic stays inside the crack, a problem some luggage items from China have as the inappropriate plastic dried and shatters. Still, the folio was immaculate, and very useful in design. Another $4.50 gone. Into the cart.
The foray included a few other finds, but a girl can’t tell all her secrets, so let’s leave it there. At the checkout, the same friendly clerk was cashiering who had chatted with me earlier. Great. She took a lot of time and care looking through the items for discount tag colors, and wrapping the breakables.
The total came to $115 with a rounding up for good will. Why, that was less than one night’s hotel bill.
Home again, home again. It was going to be good to sleep in my own bed.
A dry mouth woke me at 1:00 a.m. the next day. As my mind came to me, I was thinking of worsteds and how they got their names. My ancestors made worsteds and made a fortune selling them. My grandfather’s great-grandfather died the year after Queen Victoria, and left over one hundred thousand pounds. Wool was good to us.
But, before I could do a search online, kitty jumped up to be fed, so off I went, and on the way back, picked up the folio from the den to examine it more closely.
Unzipping it again, I searched through the pockets and crannies. Sure. I wasn’t going to find hundred dollar bills, but one jacket at the shop still had a yellowed handkerchief in one of the pockets, so the workers DO overlook interiors. Sure enough, paper letters tumbled to the fold. They were cheap stencil pieces. An R, an O, a capital P, and an M.
morP?
romP?
Prom!
I was saving a bunch. No airfare. No car rental. No Hotel. See how that works? FREE money!
The savings burning a hole in my pocket, I loaded my cart with justification and slightly mitigated glee.
The new with tags rack looked promising, and it was early, on July 5th, so I took my time and prowled the items, looking for my sizes. A dapper tweed coat caught my eye, so I tried it on and it fit. It was styled as a hunting jacket, for English or European gentlemen who killed something more than time. The labels inside told me it was a wool blend, and designed by some Italian who knew what Brits wanted.
Into the cart.
Another jacket, this one a worsted with a matching vest and a mesmerizing lavender and magenta paisleyed lining. Did I need another indigo jacket? Well, I was on vacation. If a man can’t enjoy his earnings, then why toil? It’s black, not indigo. Who can tell in this fluorescent twilight?
I tried it on. Perfect!
I tried the vest. Less than perfect, as it wouldn’t close, but I found the belt in back and loosened it. Acceptable. It was only to wear separately, as I wouldn’t wear both. And I could show off that silk. Gay? Damned straight, pardon the irony.
The tag was still pinned to the coat with the tiniest safety pin operable by human hands, even children’s. The name of the line meant nothing to me. But being on the “new” rack, it was priced $24.99. Even a cheap coat would be over $100, so done. Into the cart.
Sallying forth, a pair of unworn button-down short-sleeved shirts called. One was mint green, the other a pastel. Done. I would wear them to the office in the same week and dare Tom to ask about me repeating my wardrobe. Fool! They are not even the same color!
The dishes aisle. Five assorted ceramic or stoneware luncheon plates. For 99 cents apiece, they are a fraction of the terra cotta water catchers for my plants in pots, and colorful to boot. Done.
A beautiful brown serving bowl, finely glazed. Unused? Perhaps. Maker? Damned stickers ALWAYS cover the bottom, but this one had been vandalized and the price portion of the tag clawed away as someone before me had wanted to know also. But, would the store now sell it without the price on it? You know how that goes. Found a clerk. No problem. They can still see the color code on the remaining portion. Done. Into the cart.
Cookware? Let’s see. Oh, a pair of stainless sauté pans, graduated. I ran my fingers across the interiors. Not scratches. Beautiful nickel plating. One $4.99, one $5.99. Done.
Games. Rarely anything there. Wait. A small, squarish red box with large letters reading “Who Can Do It?” on the top and PARTY GAME around two sides. The reverse side explains the silly skills one card inside demands of the hapless drawer. It’s taped shut, so I buy it on faith.
The office and desk supply aisle isn’t a regular stop, but I’m on a roll. What is that big black canvas folio? Unzipping it, it’s a folio. Go figure. Has four dividers with stagger pockets to store all sorts of papers or prints or photos. I was about to move about seven hours’ drive in a few months, so this looked like a good way to protect a few dear items. As I turned the dividers, I could hear the plastic stays inside the crack, a problem some luggage items from China have as the inappropriate plastic dried and shatters. Still, the folio was immaculate, and very useful in design. Another $4.50 gone. Into the cart.
The foray included a few other finds, but a girl can’t tell all her secrets, so let’s leave it there. At the checkout, the same friendly clerk was cashiering who had chatted with me earlier. Great. She took a lot of time and care looking through the items for discount tag colors, and wrapping the breakables.
The total came to $115 with a rounding up for good will. Why, that was less than one night’s hotel bill.
Home again, home again. It was going to be good to sleep in my own bed.
A dry mouth woke me at 1:00 a.m. the next day. As my mind came to me, I was thinking of worsteds and how they got their names. My ancestors made worsteds and made a fortune selling them. My grandfather’s great-grandfather died the year after Queen Victoria, and left over one hundred thousand pounds. Wool was good to us.
But, before I could do a search online, kitty jumped up to be fed, so off I went, and on the way back, picked up the folio from the den to examine it more closely.
Unzipping it again, I searched through the pockets and crannies. Sure. I wasn’t going to find hundred dollar bills, but one jacket at the shop still had a yellowed handkerchief in one of the pockets, so the workers DO overlook interiors. Sure enough, paper letters tumbled to the fold. They were cheap stencil pieces. An R, an O, a capital P, and an M.
morP?
romP?
Prom!
