It’s been one of those mornings – it’s 5am now and I’ve been awake for more than an hour thanks to arthritis. I’ll survive, obviously (and with much thanks to Ibuprofin – the prescription stuff the doctor gave me is utterly useless.) It’s still frustrating to miss out on sleep because of this crap.
You know what it’s like – you get this little bit of a song stuck in your head and it doesn’t go away. This morning’s ditty is “I’m coming up.” I don’t know a single lyric beyond that one line, not a clue who recorded it, but can hear the riff behind it that marks it indelibly as something 1980’s era. How sad is that? Possibly the overall worst decade for music and it’s embedded in my head, gah! And it’s never the whole song, just a single line or maybe – at most – a couple of lines.
Music gets super glued to the inside of your brain that way. It’s mega-industrial super glue, too. It’s why advertisers pay a fortune for jingles. If you’re something-ty-something, you can probably, like me, still hum the Brylcreem ad (A Little Dab’l do ya!), or the politically incorrect Hamm’s beer ad; and Alka Seltzer’s “Plop Plop Fizz Fizz, oh what a relief it is!” is etched at some level about three inches behind your eyeballs.
And how about those theme songs for TV shows, good bad and indifferent?
When my kids were little one of their favorite (and thankfully cheap) pastimes was for mom to hum a few bars of a TV show or movie theme and they’d compete to see who could figure it out first. (Well, that and for mom to recite a slight rearrangement of famous fairy tales. Occasionally Little Red Riding Hood lost her glass slipper, or the Three Little Pigs went hunting for porridge at the house of the Three Bears, but you know how it goes with those fairy tale characters. Back in the day, breaking and entering was the venue of little girls with yellow hair and of wolves and such.)
Of course we also mustn’t forget the kids’ show themes, the ones that go on forever and make you ill. I’ll spare you from Barney as even I can’t handle that. Instead you get lamb chops.
The puppet kind.
But I digress.
Yesterday I was a complete and utter spendthrift. Sort of.
G and I did our regular rounds a couple of favorite resale outlets (aka thrift stores.) One of ’em had my size range in clothing at half price. I have lots of cool weather clothes but to be perfectly honest my warm weather stuff was kinda on the slim side AND I’ve lost enough weight now that some of my things were simply too big. (Yay for that!) I grabbed a couple of tees from the half-price area; but this store also has a bargain bin where everything is 25 cents. Y’all, they had just stocked the bargain bin. I walked out with eleven items of clothing, a movie, a set of dishes, and paid just over $10 for all of it. We totaled up the original thrift store prices just on the clothing and it was more than $50. A few of the pieces were brand new and still had the original retail store pricing on them, too.
I was glad to get these goodies but was wallowing in guilt, my second favorite pastime. I’m the lady who feels guilty for having days off from work, even my regular days off. Don’t get me started on vacation days.
G glared at me, shook his finger and warned me to shut up with the whining. He pointed out – correctly – that 1) I work my ass off for what we have and I deserve to get something for myself; 2) whining over that amount of money is just beyond ridiculous; and 3) it would have been criminal to walk away without getting some of these things. Not to mention the whole change-in-sizes thing that kind of dictated the purchase in the first place.
Still hunting places to live, but not in so big a hurry now since I know we’ve got 2-1/2 months left in this part of the planet. But there are definitely some interesting places out there. Stay tuned!