By the way, I don’t like to spend a lot of money, and I especially hate to pay full price for anything.
No other person on the planet hates shopping more than this chick, either.
And so, that dreadful combination has worked against me more than once.
I remember a time in the 1980s, when I joyfully found a pair of hose for 50 cents at a discount store.
However, when I wore those fancy hose to work, I was forced to walk like a geisha girl with a bad limp. The crotch not only fell to my knees but also twisted to the left. While I struggled in the ladies room to remove them, I fell over and smacked my face on the sink. To make matters worse, my heels blistered from wearing my cheap shoes all day without my cheap hose.
For years I have stalked the grocery store meat department after 9 p.m., waiting to grab the marked-down meat.
However, when I accidentally poisoned an ex-husband with a slightly green cube steak, that penny-pinching idea was quickly put to rest. Not because he was poisoned, mind you, but because I had to clean up the puke.
I have officially retired from buying two-for-one loaves of bread. I finally got the message why the bread is on sale in the first place. Most of the time one loaf is so stale that it could double as a doorstop while the other loaf is already growing little globs of penicillin.
My proud purchase of an off-brand mascara was also a bad deal.
Ten minutes after I applied it and left for work, my corneas felt like they were on fire. That toxic stuff irritated my eyes so badly that I stuck my face under the bathroom faucet to remove all of it, then returned to my desk looking like I just survived a tidal wave.
I have also bought more than my share of that’s-not-too-ugly-since-it-is-greatly-reduced blouses which, after the first wash and dry, could fit my neighbor’s wiener dog.
During a recent power outage every one of my discount store flashlights was as dead as a doornail ... because they were loaded with batteries from discount stores.
That was actually a pretty terrible situation since I really can’t stand to be alone in the dark. My imagination immediately drums up every single awful image of every single scary something, from rats and snakes to Godzilla and a certain individual I know, whom I refer to simply as Lucifer Jr.
Yet I am still a cheapskate.
Out of sheer necessity I still use my bargain cooler. But I absolutely hate to carry it very far since it leaks down the side of my leg. It is not a bit fun to have frostbite on my foot by the time I get to wherever I am going.
As a single mother, my son grew up watching me squeeze nickels until they squealed. And so, every time I offer him ice cream or any other snack, he slyly checks out the expiration date before he says he’d like some.
I think I might have traumatized him.