Tag: thrift stores

All I Wanted

One of those days.

 I ripped my jeans today. 
 The kind of dry rotting rip that can’t be patched.
 And unless you have a slammin’ body, 
 you can’t buy jeans online. 
 You have to try them on. 
 You have to be able to see how your butt looks in the mirror.

 Even worse, these were work jeans. 
 I refuse to pay retail for work jeans 
that will only get greasy right off.

 So I went to the thrift store.
 Do you understand?
 I went to a thrift store, 
 Full of screaming, snotty children.
 In the midst of a pandemic.

 I found three possible pairs. 
 Not the ripped up kind that the young ‘uns wear.
 But not Mom jeans, either.

 Only to discover that the fitting rooms were closed.
 Due to COVID-19.
 I had risked my life for a pair of jeans.
 Now I couldn’t try them on.

 I hung them on the nearest rack (of shirts), 
 and walked out.
 I got in my car. 
 I drove home.

 En route, I thought about how everything 
 is just so damned hard now.
 You can’t eat out.
 You can’t hug.
 You can’t go to the movies.
 You can’t breathe freely.
 You can’t count on the government.
 You can’t go anywhere or do anything.

 We live in it daily,
 but sometimes it sneaks up.

 I sat in my driveway and cried.
 One of those hard, cleansing, chest-heaving cries
 that confuse and irritate men.

 Now I’m exhausted.

 And the pandemic still rages on, 
 grinding us all down without remorse.
 Leaving casualties in its wake.
 Things will never be the same.

 I’m scared.

 Still sniffling, I went inside.
 And then someone drove up to our garage 
 and stole some tools.
 Looked me square in the eye
 he drove away
 In his 60k, brand new SUV.
 Just like that.

 And all I wanted 
 was a stinkin’ pair of jeans.

Like this quirky little blog? Then you’ll love this book! http://amzn.to/2mlPVh5

How I Live Now

There was a time, not so very long ago, when I could have told you the exact amount of cash I had in my wallet, down to the penny. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, wondering how I’d pay my bills, or what on earth I’d do if I became seriously ill with no health insurance. For most of my life, I was about one flat tire away from utter homelessness. It was exhausting.

I learned to add rice to a can of soup to make it a meal. I was the coupon queen. I wore clothes until my meager sewing skills couldn’t keep them together anymore, and then I’d replace them at the thrift store. My shoes would all but disintegrate on my feet.

For entertainment, I’d play with my dogs, or take a walk, or watch PBS. I checked out mounds of library books. I knew when all the museums and galleries were free.

I’m not saying that all the joy in life is brought about by money, but life sure has improved now that the financial pressure has eased considerably.

I still keep a tiny bit of cash on hand for emergencies, but I couldn’t tell you how much. Mostly, I sleep through the night, and while I still avoid extravagant, unnecessary bills, I don’t worry about my ability to pay the ones I do incur. My health insurance is probably better than what most people have here in America. (Which isn’t saying much.) And recently I replaced all four of my tires at once without batting an eye. (Okay, maybe I swallowed hard for a second, but there was absolutely no eye batting.)

I still don’t eat at five-star restaurants, but I actually buy organic fruits and vegetables without considering them a splurge. And if I really want something in particular to eat, I figure out a way to get it. I can’t remember the last time I even opened a can of soup. I still use coupons, but I’m not ruled by them. I still shop at thrift stores mostly, but every once in a while I’ll get myself something really nice to wear. And my shoes are in good shape.

I have a lot more fun than I used to. I can afford to get out there and engage with the world. I eat out. I see the odd movie. I pay admission fees without perspiring, and occasionally donate a little extra to museums. I still love library books, though.

Sometimes I’ll look around and wonder how I got to this place. It was a long, hard struggle. It doesn’t seem real to me. I doubt it ever will. I keep expecting to wake up to another can of soup. And I doubt I’ll ever be able to retire. Because of that, I’ll always appreciate how I live now. I’ll never take anything for granted. I’ll always feel as though I’ve taken off a pair of shoes that were two sizes too small. For now, it really feels good to wiggle my toes!

Life. It’s so fragile, so precarious. Enjoy it as much as you can, while you can.

Financial Stress.jpg

Claim your copy of A Bridgetender’s View: Notes on Gratitude today and you’ll be supporting StoryCorps too! http://amzn.to/2mlPVh5