So Good…It’s a Steal

It was last Wednesday, the hottest day of the year thus far in   Atlanta. I had just completed FREE yoga in the park with some of my girlfriends from work when I decided to see if H&M still had a swimsuit I saw just two weeks ago. I walked in and didn’t really notice anything out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, before I could even get to the swimsuits, I walked pass a rack of collar shirts in the front of the store, that would be perfect for summer. I picked up three. They are on sale for $7.00 a pop… that’s a steal, I thought to myself. Then I proceeded to the middle of the store where I was flooded…no… completely overwhelmed with red sale signs. My cousin, who witnessed this too, saw me transform from She Makes Cents… back to Danielle who gets a high from shopping. Sometimes I forget we are one and the same. Thirty minutes and fourteen hangers worth of clothes later, I was on the way to the dressing room. For so long, I have done such a great job controlling my spending that I forgot just how good it felt to shop.
Thank goodness for bad fits and wrong sizes because I ended up putting back practically everything, except two pairs of flats and a white sequin blazer. I got to the checkout, opening my wallet knowing that this purchase would max out last week’s shopping/entertainment category for my envelope system, and I swiped my debit card anyway. It’s okay….I thought to myself…I saved money because I decided against all those other outfits I tried on.

The Morning After

I woke up the next morning with a major hangover…a shopping hangover, that is. You know, when you are hit with the remembrance of last night’s out of control shopping escapade. All of the warm and fuzzies have worn off and I am left trying to recall what exactly I spent my money on. Things became clearer in the light of day and I realized that the left ballet flat was a size 6 (my size) and the right flat was a size 8 (not my size). Not so cute anymore, huh?   And how about that blazer?  I was forced to ask myself the same question that my cousin asked me in the midst of my excitement the night before. Where in the hell are you going to wear a white sequin blazer? That night I swore I would wear it in Vegas, but in reality, it will be over 110° when I am there. Yes, outside of the pink iridescent ballet flats that remind me of my old pointe shoes, my trip to H&M was an epic fail. They didn’t even have the bikini I walked in there for.

Can You Relate? 

Tell Me About YOUR last “Hangover”.

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