There must be a chemical in the brain that is released when one finds a bargain. At least there is in my brain. For me, there is no better high than seeing the words SALE colorfully splashed across the window of a store. I can start to feel the excitement building in my body as I approach the racks with the ever so beautiful white cardboard signs that say 50% off! I am immediately turned on and ready to score.
I take the art of shopping very seriously and that is why I have practiced over and over again for many many years. Like any great artist who excels in their field, controversy is sure to follow. Some people don’t understand the dedication and heart it takes just to put together the perfect outfit. By some people I mean my husband, but sometimes a great artist is not recognized until they are dead!
The skill it takes to maneuver through a shoe sale gracefully is ethereal. The ability to move ones eyes up and down sales racks taking a mental inventory of what sizes are available, what colors are in stock, which shoe goes with what you have in your closet, all while doing the math of what 30% off of $125.89 is spellbinding. If you asked me to do a simple math problem a 6th grader might have I would panic and start to fidget for the first gadget I could find that had a calculator. If you asked me to grab four size 8, spring inspired d’orsay peep toe heels, calculate the percentage off of each one, and tally up the grand total, I could do it in a heartbeat. Not only that, but I could do it, trying on a wedge sandal, pushing the girl reaching for my shoe out of the way, rocking the stroller to keep my son asleep, while checking to see if the added inches the wedge gave me in the mirror make me look thinner!
The high that comes with finding the perfect shoe and flipping it over to see that bright red sticker staring back at you that says half/off is intoxicating. You have beat “The Man” today. That Miss Sixty brown leather wedge, normally $200 and change, $60 at Macy’s is your gold metal! Today I wished I had one of those vuvuzelas horns from the world cup, and was able to run up and down the shoe department yelling “GOAL” or in my case “SCORE” that’s how happy I felt. In respect for the meeker women around me who had no idea what they were doing I refrained myself.