Since I was tiny- I’ve always known my tastes, and my
favourite word? SALE. Is there anything more irresistible than the shiny racks
upon racks of clothing that didn’t quite fit the bill for someone else but is
just perfect for you? And the best part, the cherry on the icing on the
delicious cake? The fact that their all at a reduced price! And you know that
with just one swipe of a card, one flick of a note, it’s all yours. It boards
your savvy ship in its new plastic sheen of a coat, and promises a happy ever
after. Ahh, the sale.
Just last week, I was browsing my favourite stores, getting
used to the twenty something prices which I inherited once turning fourteen
(the price of fashion, right?); when I saw it- the word, Sale. The curve of the
S, the satisfying masculinity of the powerful A, the flick of the L and the
resounding cuteness of the concluding E. Heaven. So of course, I went in quick
as my DMs could carry me. And there it was, the sale. But wait...
Yes there was the racks, yes there was the somehow comforting
hussle-bussle that is expected with deductions. But it wasn’t with its usual
exciting, almost festive atmosphere. It was sad.
Like a graveyard, the clothes were lined up, there beautiful
bodies decaying with declining price. Tender with something less than ‘living’.
The once exquisite pieces now putrefying with the pick-up-put-down days they spend
end on end. A complete and utter graveyard sale.
I wasn’t sure what had happened. It was like something had
changed inside me , I was no longer seeing the splendour of the sale, I was
seeing the sadness, the deceit.
So, obviously, the deceit turned to receipt when I rescued
some of the mini Miss Havershams and took the home to once again flourish, with
Me.
Happily Ever After.
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