skelley346

After age 60, more should be going out of our closets than coming in. We can start with getting rid of the sentimental  T-shirts that we’ve collected over the years and that take up an inordinate amount of space.  I’m guessing my husband has about 300 of these advertising his college, his favorite football and baseball teams and the many vacations he’s taken—his life in cotton. Some are neatly folded in closet cubbies, others are stuffed randomly in drawers.  Every now and then, I devote a Sunday to “closet elimination.”  He agrees to throw some shirts out. I take a pile of about 30 and hold up each one for his decision. “This is at least 20 years old and has a hole and a spot I can’t get out,” I say.  His answer: “I love that.  It’s my favorite T-shirt.”  By the end of an hour, I’m lucky to have eliminated even one; it’s a losing battle.

One time, while he was on a business trip, I decided to take matters into my own hands and just get rid of some of the clothes that were too old or too ratty to wear anymore. I took two large trash bags and filled them with shirts, jackets and pants—things he didn’t need and I didn’t think he would miss. I figured if I left them in a trash bag for three months and he didn’t ask for them, I could take them to Goodwill. In the meantime, while my cleaning lady was helping me with this project, I gave her a few shirts as a bonus. The problem came when my husband returned home from his trip and the cleaning lady came over wearing one of his shirts. “Hey, I have the same shirt!” he said. She smiled knowingly, and I thought Not anymore! But based on that, I thought it was more honest to include him in the process from then on.

I’m also at fault here because I buy him “funny” T-shirts that say things like, “Yes, Dear,” and I also have made shirts for birthdays and other special occasions. Do we throw these out if they are special? I myself have a few T-shirts but never wear them because I have narrow shoulders; they just don’t work for me and honestly, I d­on’t want to invite people to stare at my chest while reading them—like a bumper sticker for your clothing. I just keep them; I’m not sure why.  But come on, we don’t get our identity from our T-shirts.  At least we shouldn’t.  And who cares that we were in Berlin in 2008 or “Walked on The Great Wall of China” in 2006.  Must we advertise our thoughts and vacations?  Isn’t it enough we have the memories and the photos to prove we were there?  Let’s get to work and toss some of these fabric momentos.

This should be a code of living for every woman, be it a bad marriage, a dead-end job, a toxic friendship or relationship, just say NO.  Sometimes you have to defriend people. Go forward and just whistle. You know how to whistle, don’t you?

Your favorite store is having a sale. You get yourself in because it seems like a good idea—and really, how can you resist a sale? I can’t.

I needed a light blue shirt. So I headed to the store and ended up buying five things, and not one of them was a blue shirt. However, two of them were cardigans, which I never wear. Remember this for later.

Because the sale was 25 percent off the second markdown, I convinced myself that it was like free clothes. So, of course, I ended up buying the bargains but not what I really needed—a blue shirt.

But it gets better.

When I went to pay for the items (keep in mind that this all took place on a Friday), the salesperson—who was not the woman I usually buy from—told me she could hold my clothes until Monday and pre-ring them so I’d be eligible for a gift card at the store’s shopping event that coming Thursday, at which point I could also pick up the clothes. I thought, “Sure, why not?”

I went to pick up my purchase and gift card on Thursday, as directed. While she was handing me the clothes, the saleswoman told me that if I spent another $20, I’d be eligible for a double gift card. “Can’t you pick out something else?” she asked. So I went the cosmetics counter and bought some makeup to ensure I’d get the double gift card.

While I was at it, I also found two pairs of black pants—you can never have enough black pants. I used my gift card on that purchase and brought everything home.

When I put on the cardigans I’d bought—remember them?—and modeled them for my husband, his face said it all. “How can I say this nicely?” he asked. “They age you 20 years. You look like a grandmother.”

They looked okay in the store. It’s the lighting.  Everything looks better in the store. Then two years later, the tags are still on when you deliver them to Goodwill.

I decided to return the cardigans and headed back to the store—my third time in a week. When I got there, my usual saleslady, Lois, was working and so was the one who had sold me the clothes and gift card. There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Can I help you?” Lois finally asked.

I explained that I wanted to return the two cardigans, and when Lois tried to return them, the register instructed her to call the sales office because “there’s an issue,” she said, with a raised eyebrow.

The sales office told Lois that I had used a gift card that had been given to me when I bought the cardigans, which were a separate purchase. Because of that, I was under the amount needed to be eligible for the double gift card in the first place, so I’d have to deduct $50 from my total return. I wouldn’t really be getting all my money back because I had been sucked into the thrill of a double gift card.

At this point, I wasn’t sure that I even wanted to return them.

The bottom line: Shopping is supposed to be a de-stresser—but when you get into the sale section, it becomes a confusing conundrum. What are you really saving?