Confessions of a Garage Sale Junkie

I am a junkie. I admit it: I am addicted to garage sales. Thrift shops. Flea markets. Estate sales. Antique stores. Even dollar stores will grab my attention on occasion, and I am not above browsing curbside or dumpster-diving (although I do draw the line at actually entering the dumpster).

It's the thrill of the chase, the never-ending search for that Special Something, the hope that deep in the recesses of someone's attic, basement or garage lurks a vintage toy, a cool chair, or some brand-new crafting supplies that can be had for a song from someone who happily paid full price for their "retail therapy".

I've always known therapy is overpriced.

What is it about retail that puts people in a frenzy? I'd much rather take $20 in quarters, dimes and pennies out on a Saturday morning and come home with a carload of stuff than proclaim "charge!" at the mall and come home with a carload of stuff, a boatload of debt, and a hazy feeling of "what-have-I-done" that generally occurs a year later as you're writing the check to pay your credit card company for the privilege of buying that... that... huh.

What is it that we have to have NOW that we must pay in installments for the rest of our lives? A house? yes. A car? Well, ok. A computer? Maybe. Dinner? Those trendy boots? That new Playstation game? A Starbucks coffee?

My friends, this must not be!!!

Buy second-hand and save your soul!!!

Besides, you won't care so much when Boris the dog eats the 75 cent needlepoint pillow that someone else's grandmother made. However, this year's Prada shoes that cost you a week's pay would be another story.


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