I think the universe is telling me to put down my credit card

Once upon a time and an entirely different salary ago, I used to shop. Big time. It was… a problem. Recently, I’ve been much better – mostly by force (from my husband and our bank account). I think I’m actually downright thrifty now.  Well, in comparison to how I used to be anyway. It’s all relative…

But, the other week, I had a relapse. When I’m feeling blue, my fingers start itching for plastic.  It’s not long before my credit card starts smelling a little like when you microwave Tupperware. In fairness to myself (yup, I’m actually taking my own side here – defensive much?), I really needed a few new items here and there for summer. Of course, there were some other odds and ends that I probably could have done without.

For instance, that $70 black belt. Once upon a time, I wouldn’t even blink to drop that kind of dough. It’s simply not the case anymore.  With this belt, I could feel the guilt building in my throat as I walked it up to the cash register. I justified its purchase with every step: I don’t have a stretchy belt; stretchy raffia? Never seen that before; it’s classic, I’ll have it forever; I can actually fit into a size small in it… Well, I purchased it only to leave it in the bag by the foot of my bed, too guilty to take it out until today.

I haven’t done my laundry in a few weeks and low and behold, I have no clean pants left. Normally, I throw some jeans on, but it’s damn hot out. So today is one of the rare instances when you will find me wearing a skirt and trying to look like a lady.  Usually, I try to only wear clothes that will allow me to spontaneously cartwheel should the need arise. You know, like you’re having a bad day at work so you yell “Fudge this, I’m outta here!” and you bust out of there cartwheeling.

Well, today’s skirt ensemble needed to be accessorized with a belt to cover up its elastic waistband. Yeah, that’s right, disaster rule #58: wear elastic as much as possible because you never know when you’ll need to hit an all-you-can-eat buffet. So I pulled out my $70, elastic raffia belt from the shopping bag where it had been hiding since purchase. Several disasters ensued. I snagged a nail yanking off the plastic hanger that was still attached. While trying simultaneously to curse and buckle my belt, I caught my finger on a sharp corner of the buckle. At the same moment, I realized that between when I bought the belt and this morning, I had gained some weight… just enough to shove me out of the size small belt range.  The belt snapped out of my hand and tore a chunk out of my finger where the side of the buckle had caught.  It’s not a true disaster day without me fumbling for a band-aid.

I’m now wearing an old belt that while not elastic raffia, actually fits and works well enough. Danger belt has gone back into the bag with the receipt and is sitting by the door waiting to be returned. I’m now off to console myself in a bowl of ramen. More on that tomorrow…