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Neighborhood Thrift Shop



Today I am thankful for the lil' thrift shop in my home town.
 
 
Anyone who knows me well, knows that I've basically been on my own since I was fourteen. 
 
After my parents died, I was sent off to live with a rich uncle.....who was never home.  He never gave me money or an allowance.  I worked for whatever I had. 
 
I also made friends with the women who ran the local thrift shop.  That helped me have nice clothes that got me through high school. 
 
Now when I have NICE stuff, it goes to them.  They give a lot of stuff to battered women.  The money goes to the shelter. 
 
Many of the local consignment shops give their high end merchandise to them.  I go and get new stuff for next to nothing.  I swear, I have more shoes than Imelda Marcos.  If I don't ever get around to wearing them before I move, they'll go back to the thrift shop. 
 
I call that the cycle of crap. 
I buy.  I give it back.  I buy some more. 
 
It works. 
 
I need a coat.  I broke my zipper tugging on it too hard.  They didn't have anything that wasn't gaudy.  I won't wear fur.  I don't know how to clean leather.  So....I didn't get a coat. 
 
My friend gave me a paper bag and told me to fill it up.  She said they needed to make room and would give me anything I could fit in the bag for $5.  So...
 
I got a brand new red suit, a really slinky black dress, and a couple of hot low cut blouses.  Then my friend stuffed it full of jeans for me. 
 
She said she sold me $80 worth of stuff for $5. 
 
I left with a bag of clothes. 
 
I tried to pawn it off on the teenager and she said NO. 
 
So...

I'm at home doing laundry.
 
 
 
This was the first time that I went to my home town and didn't miss Thomas...oops, I mean Timothy. 
 
I miss Steve. 

It's horrid. 
 
I went onto Facebook (like a f'ing freak) and saw something that Steve typed to me about being rejected, being undesirable, and that no sugar can cure his pain. 
 
He has no clue.  I have sugar that could cure his pain.  I just need to make sure it doesn't cause more trouble than it is worth for him.  I'd get that guy's neuroreceptors firing. 

His blue eyes sparkle.  His bald head is the hottest damn thing on the planet; that's a turn on.  He glows when he sees me.  That is cool, too. 

I like gray beards, too.

He's smart.  He's funny.  He's filthy. 

He's not a jackass. 

I wanted to call him to ask if he was okay but I didn't. 

I felt guilty. 
 
My ex came upstairs and saw my red suit and started to cry. 
 
I asked him if he was feeling well. 
 
Yeah....he whimpered. 
 
He mentioned that he met me when I was wearing a red dress and some stupid Chris deBurgh song was playing.  
 
What the hell? 
 
He doesn't want me enough to play nice and stop stalking!  Why does he want me when I want someone else? 
 
Damn him! 

I'm going to have to move before I can stay warm at night, huh? 

Sigh...and a hot lesbian friend of mine offered to teach me something new.
 
Worse, the man who proposed to me on the other side of the country keeps calling me. 
 
I don't want him either. 
 
Maybe I need to run away. 
 
Help??
  
 
 


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