Size Matters

Yesterday, I was reminded that I'm not the only one going through this whole empty-nester thing. Enjoying a beautiful late summer morning with the Sunday Tribune, I found a compatriot soul in John Kass. He's the Tribune writer who holds the coveted page two spot where he editorializes on life in Chicago. I've been moved by his pieces on gun violence and entertained by his dissection of Illinois politicians and read his musings whenever I get the chance. But this time, it wasn't his column detailing his empty nest journey that caught my eye but an image accompanying the text. It was a picture of a lonely quart of milk standing sentry in an empty refrigerator. It looked just like the one I recently bought. (Except my fridge didn't look half as clean.  Those out-of-date condiments and leftovers that should have gone out in Thursday's trash collection take up a lot of room.)

I had never bought a quart of milk before last week. Even when I was single, I bought a gallon. I used to drink tons of the stuff, pouring it over daily cereal or downing it after late-night chocolate chip cookies. And the kids? They used to drink enough to get me occasionally thinking about the benefits of tying Bessie up in the back yard. But now that I've cut back on carbs (good-bye, Mini-Wheats; hello, veggie omelets) and taken up drinking tea with my greatly reduced sweets consumption, and my dairy-loving offspring have checked into other accommodations, a gallon of milk wouldn't stand a chance of ending up anywhere other than the sink.

Unfortunately, my husband is no help in this department. Born and raised in Europe, he finds it odd that anyone past the age of twelve finds milk remotely palatable. (Even Kate Hudson in that "Got milk?" campaign couldn't sway him.) And he wouldn't dream of putting anything less than Half and Half in his coffee.

I wouldn't mind downsizing so much except I hate paying so much more for so much less. When I know that I can get a gallon of milk at Costco for $2.38 it kills me to pay some grocery store $1.68 for a quart. It goes against every fiber of my being to give up a bargain just because my tax deductions have flown the coop. Thank God it won't impact my purchases of toilet paper (we're set until 2017) or laundry detergent (ditto) and I just bought a bottle of Shout that should take me to the grave but those damn perishables are another story. Maybe I just need to stand outside Costco with my gallon of milk, my three dozen eggs, my four pounds of strawberries and a few empty containers.

If I can find three other empty-nesters, I should be able to turn a nice profit on the deal.

Put Me in, Coach

I try my hardest to stay away from anything involving the Kardashian family. (If you ever see me hesitate, for even a second or two, to flip the channel past Kris Jenner's new talk show, you have my permission to confiscate my remote and send me to my room.) I find the fact that they are famous to be a sure sign of the impending apocalypse and I want no part in a world that wants anything to do with any of them.

There are countless reasons to support my disdain of all things Kardashian (North West, really?) but I'll just single out the latest - a $30,000 Hermes diaper bag. Yeah, that's right. Someone on this planet actually is stuffing dirty baby clothes into a vessel that cost more than my parents' first house.

My little Kardashian rant (I've been known to have them on a regular basis) serves to get me into my actual point - I've never been able to understand people who spend a lot of money on a purse. It seems like such a utilitarian purchase. You need something to hold your wallet, cellphone, coupons, etc. That much is clear. But as long as Target and TJ Maxx stock a bunch of cute bags that don't set you back more than a week's worth of lattes, I don't see any reason to drop a car payment or two on something that, sooner or later, is going to suffer an open lipstick tube or melted Milky Way.

So, if I'm such a stone-throwing realist, why am I now carrying a Coach bag over my shoulder?

It all started with a Girls' Day Out. After dropping old clothes off at Clothes Mentor (see, I do recycle and reuse), we headed to the nearest Factory Outlet Mall. My daughter, who doesn't share my contempt for designer bags, knew there was a Coach store on the premises and felt like treating herself.

When we walked in, we were handed a coupon informing us that we could take an additional thirty percent off the cost of anything in the already heavily discounted store. Within minutes, my daughter was holding five or six bags gleefully calculating the savings on each. Chastising me for not having anything in my hands, she insisted I "try on" a few. I humored her for awhile but had no intention of walking out of there with anything more than the satisfaction of knowing I was a more savvy shopper than the hordes of intoxicated customers eagerly paying for their armful of over-priced bags.

That's when I saw it. A black bag with relatively unobnoxious Coach lettering on it (why aren't all these manufacturers paying us to advertise their products instead of the other way around???) and a cute little pink flower hanging from its fully adjustable strap. It had hot pink lining, pockets for everything and a magnetic snap that didn't look like it would break anytime soon. It also had the cheapest price tag of anything I'd seen in the store - $198 with half off and the additional thirty percent on top of that. Very functional, very practical, likely to last longer than anything I'd bought at Target, highly approved by my resident personal shopper, and weighing in at a not too horrendous $66.50.

I wonder if this is how it started for Kim Kardashian?

Face Value

Anyone who's been reading this blog for awhile knows how much I love a good bargain. I'm only exaggerating slightly when I say that buying retail is against my religion. I'm crazy about nice clothes but I buy them only when Talbots or Ann Taylor has an end-of-season clearance sale. I scour the Sunday flyers for deals too good to pass up and most of our household items started out on the shelves of TJ Maxx or Homegoods. So how, I ask you, does an inveterate bargain hunter like myself plop down $39 for foundation? I'm about to tell you.

I can't even say I was coerced. No over-the-top cosmetic consultant pressured me into this insanity. No, this time I was completely on my own. I had already bought a high-end concealer a couple of weeks back (when it was buy one, get one free - I keep these moments of lunacy to a bare minimum) and had returned to the store to exchange it for a different shade. That's when the helpful salesgirl got me. "Are you set on using this one?" she said. "If not, I think I can get you something that you'll like a lot better". Having a little time to kill I thought what the hell, let's see what she's got.

She took me to a line of cosmetics that I had never heard of called Napoleon and introduced me to a stick foundation that could double as a concealer. It didn't hurt that the consultant had flawless skin and swore it was all thanks to the product that she was now brushing all over my face. When I finally got a look at what she had done, I had to admit I looked better - not OMG I look forty again better - but the lines looked finer and the pores looked smaller. As she told me the price I remember thinking that I could have four bottles of my previous foundation for the same money but found myself telling her I would take it.

As I got closer to the door, my guilt got the better of me and I turned around and handed it back to her saying, "You know what, I think I'm going to think about it". Walking out with nothing except the product I had brought to return, I settled into the driver's seat and took a look in my rearview mirror. There was no denying that the make-up looked great, even in the harsh afternoon light. My skin looked smoother and had a nice glow. Hell, even the bags under my eyes looked better. That's when it happened. I got out of the car, marched back into the store and informed the stunned salesgirl that I would take that nicely packaged miracle stick after all.

And at that moment, forty bucks felt like a bargain.

Goodwill Hunting

I don’t normally think of myself as a trailblazer but I’ve been hunting for bargains way before it was fashionable to do so. I’ve braked for garage sales, cleared clearance racks and scoured through consignment shops long before the economic downturn, not because I couldn’t afford to pay retail, but because I just HATED doing so.

I’m happy to report that I’ve passed my cheap gene down to my firstborn child. Today, she invited me to accompany her to the local Goodwill store, an invitation I hastily accepted. I figured walking up and down a resale store’s aisles would be as good a way as any to work off that amazing burger and sweet potato fries we had just polished off at Smashburger’s. (If you haven’t been, go – they know what they’re doing).

The front of the store was full of Halloween-themed items. Too bad I wasn’t in the market for a costume – they had tons. Not sure what might have been living in the fur of that one lion suit, but most of what I saw would have made great trick-or-treat apparel, if only I had anyone around to outfit. Anyway, once I worked my way through the holiday stuff, I arrived at books and music. I didn’t buy anything this time, not even the Greatest Hits of Lesley Gore album, a record I once actually owned, that was in the bin behind the bookshelves.

After deciding that there wasn’t any glassware I couldn’t live without, I walked past the electronics department. There on the shelves were computers, keyboards, and VCRs for a fraction of their original cost. Most of it looked fit for the landfill but then I saw it – an HP printer that looked exactly like the one I had at home, the one that makes that god-awful noise every time it tries to feed the paper. The one on the shelf didn’t have a power or USB cord but that didn’t matter. I had both waiting at home.

My daughter found a pair of fun glasses and I walked out of there with that printer (which actually worked when I got it home) and a wallet that was $4.28 lighter. A great burger, a great bargain and an afternoon with my daughter.

I honestly don’t know which I enjoyed more.

Bargain Queen

There is nothing I like better than a good sale. Since paying retail is against my religion, I am always on the lookout for a great deal. I'm crazy about Costco, love Amazon and brake for garage sales. I have even fallen prey to the charms of HSN hostesses touting items that I never knew I always wanted. In fact, just this week I picked up the phone to buy Wolfgang Puck's electric piemaker. This handy gadget can make two pies (or cakes as the spirit moves me) in 8 minutes AND it was 60% off it's original price. I got it in red. It should be here by Friday.

This time of year is also the time for me to update my summer wardrobe. As soon as I see those big final clearance signs, I know it's my time to attack. I usually make my way through the sale racks at every Talbots and Ann Taylor store within a 30 mile radius and leave with $300 worth of clothes that cost me $35. What could be better than that? Answer: nothing. There is nothing better than getting beautiful, well-made clothes for the same price as their Wal-Mart cousins.

It's clear that God supports me in my mission. Today, when I went back to Talbots to exchange a pair of shorts that turned out to be a bit snug (I know I got them for 75% off but that's no reason to start getting so chintzy with the fabric), I discovered that they only had one pair left - in exactly the size I was looking for. And just to be sure that I hadn't missed anything in my other three visits in the last ten days, I scoured the racks one more time. Sure enough, there was a sleeveless pink and navy top that I had rejected as being too low cut. Having a few minutes to kill, I decided to slip it on and instantly fell in love. Turns out it was only too low on the hanger. Go figure. Fifteen minutes later, I left with a pair of shorts that now actually fits and a to-die-for top that cost me $12.

It's good to be the queen.