THE BOOKLESS CLUB TALKS BARGAINS
A couple of years back, I bought the most expensive sweater I have ever owned. It was brown, black and grey triple-ply cashmere. A cardigan, heavy, but not bulky, and with handsome buttons tracking down the front. I chanced upon it at a discount store that, secreted among more pedestrian offerings, often had couture selections. This was a lucky strike. From a distance, I immediately identified its inherent quality. This could be, I contemplated, the cardigan to end all cardigans. I could replace a half-dozen lame entries in my sweater drawer with this one genius garment.
But geez, was it expensive. As expensive as this sweater was, it was at least 70 per cent less than it would have been at full price. A bargain, right?
So, I bought the cardigan. I congratulated myself on a wardrobe acquisition based on utility, not false economy.
I took it home, and folded it into my sweater drawer, steeling myself for the departure by attrition of less worthy inclusions — farewell sorry black cardigan, adieu tatty grey pullover, so long ratty brown jumper. This was an adult sweater. A sweater for a woman who had earned the right to judicious luxury.
Two weeks passed and the perfect sweater remained in the drawer. Each time I tried it on, it didn’t look right. Each time I looked at it, I reflected on the price. “That,” I said aloud, “is one expensive sweater.”
I decided the sweater wasn’t earning its keep. I’d use the money to buy an electric bicycle or fund an orphanage or reshingle the roof. It was just too much cash to have tied up in a cardigan. Back to the store it went. And then the remorse set in. I had let a life-changing garment slip through my hands. Never again would I encounter such a windfall bargain. But now it was gone, gone, gone. Probably to the closet of a clear-thinking individual who knew how to make rational decisions. Months pass.
I’m back at the discount store. There, at the top of the escalator, is a large circular rack.
On top of that rack is a sign reading “final clearance.”
As I rise up on that escalator — cue the angel choir — I see the triple-ply brown, black and grey cardigan, its arms outstretched, calling my name. It is now priced at — and I kid you not — $36.99, which is like a $550 reduction from the sale price I rejected it at. As in a scene where a long-lost pet is reunited with its owner, I pull the sweater close to my chest. I take that sweater home. I fold that sweater into its new home in my sweater drawer.
All remorse is now expunged. The perfect sweater has come home again. Only now it’s a perfect bargain.
Victory. I slept well that night. It’s been a couple of years now. I’ve never worn the sweater. My only consolation is that at least I’m not not wearing a $36.99 sweater as opposed to not not wearing a $600 sweater.
I’m still sorting out what qualifies as a bargain.
This week’s question for readers:
What’s the best, and the worst, retail purchase you’ve made?
Responses to last week’s question for readers:
Has there been a pet that has been the centre of your family’s life? Is an animal helping you get through the pandemic?
After my dog, Honey, passed
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away last July, I continued my long but lonely daily walks. I reached out to Mary’s Doggies in Taiwan, who picked Rosy for me (she’d been caught along with her six older pups). Rosy arrived from Taiwan before the coronavirus hit. She loves people, cuddling and walks. She has a quirky run with her bum tucked under, giving her lightning speed. Sometimes, doorways scare her and she comes close then bolts around the yard over and over again. We just discovered she is in the newly released Rescuing Rex documentary — she’s Rain’s mom! We are so blessed.
Cathy Moore
Our pets have become our
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furry “comfort objects” during the pandemic. Living in the present moment as they do reminds me to do the same. Molly, our Ragdoll/siamese cat, delights in finding a warm lap and excels in entering a Zen state as she falls fast asleep. Unfortunately, while she begins her nap with purrs, as her sleep deepens, she snores loudly. That certainly ruins the tranquillity of the moment.
Our house rabbit, Dobby, takes the opposite approach to life. Food is fun, and she delights in treats. She will do a binky (a rabbit happy dance) when the fridge door opens. If we are slow in getting her a treat, she will get impatient and loudly thump her back leg. Only after that will she happily settle down to be petted. She will nudge my hand if I stop petting her for a moment. “Life is good,” she reminds me.
June Hall
After not having a cat for some ■
time, I decided to volunteer early in the pandemic with the rescue shelter Langley Animal Protection Society as a way to get my fix. Immediately, we became aware of a petite four-year-old tortoiseshell that would soon be available for adoption. Found badly injured, she required surgery, skin grafts and time to heal. They named her Story. We brought her home and she soon became Cinnamon. She is the most gentle, kind and wonderful cat. She’s stuck to us like glue. She is a fetcher. She is a talker. We’ve been mutually rescued, and we love each other!
Debbie Wright
I have two dogs with serious
■ illness. When I see them still breathing each morning, it’s a miracle. In March, I was informed that my 11-year-old Golden Doodle had an inoperable liver tumour and was told to just love and spoil her. We take walks every day to the dog park, savouring the smells and sounds. Like a big teddy bear, I hold her close and tell her how much I love her. My 14-year-old Havanese gives me a little “sigh” of contentment when I stroke his ears. I adopted him for company upon my retirement and marvel at how he still makes the effort to follow me on his wobbly legs. I miss human hugs, but am blessed with unconditional love from my furry pets during the pandemic.
Vera Lagasse