Echoes in a Hollow Space

Sometimes you just got to buy geegaws. It’s a rule.

The trouble, for me at any rate, is that often one good purchase of geegaws often leads to another. I think carefully before I allow such purchases, then give myself permission to make a sensible acquisition of baubles—just this once. But my inner five-year-old reads that as, “We have permission to spend! Let’s get to it! Ooo! Bright shiny!”

Next thing you know, I’ve trifled away more money on trifles. That’s when the inner-matron has to step in and say, “That’s enough of that, young lady!” Usually, I listen to her.

I will never be rich. Trinkets are so plentiful and so pretty and I am an acquisitive little magpie. They make me happy. I don’t really need to be rich, anyway. A parsimonious acquaintance of mine doesn’t seem to enjoy his life much even though he perpetually lectures me on being “bad with money.” I pay my bills on time and have money left over every month so how bad can I be? I even manage to save a little on the side. But the purchase of the occasional gaud, you see, constitutes being bad with money in his lexicon.

So be it. I may sing another tune when I’m on a fixed income and living on cat food tuna—but la di da la di da! Tomorrow is another day!

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.