The (Miami) Valley of Temptation

I have been led into the Valley of Temptation (AKA Goodwill Outlet of  Miami Valley)and my resolve not to buy anything at all crumbled, faded and was swept away as the sheer muchness of bin after bin of merchandise washed over me.

I can forgive myself for buying paperback books. At $.69 a pound, they are so easy to buy, read,  and recycle that it hardly counts as breaking my vow of No New Stuff. One must READ, after all, and the 17th time one reads a book, some of the luster is gone. Most books don't hang around my house after the first reading.

And I might perhaps be forgiven for falling in love with absolutely gorgeous wool tweed suiting in tans with a pick of green and several picks of other colors, adding up to a warm and flattering tan. Surely a fabric lover could forgive my helpless tumble into fabric lust the second I touched the wool. I resisted mightily. I put it back. I picked it up and measured it: 4 yards, enough for a suit.  At that point, I was lost, but still fighting against it.  A person planning to move to Texas does not need to buy wool. A person planning to move to Texas should be selling off all the wool in her stash, because Texas has, at best, 6 weeks of winter. For that, corduroy is good enough.

And maybe buying vintage patterns, most of which I plan to recycle into my Etsy shop,  tinyseamster, is understandable. One must have merchandise, but really, I have enough vintage patterns to keep the shop busy for a year. Seventies graphics kept pressing my buttons. I did not NEED new stock; I lusted for it.

I wanted the Vogue/Butterick kitty pattern, a duplicate of one I own and from which I have made many a kitty. I bought a pattern because I had had its lookalike, in a much smaller size,  in the 70's. I bought another because I had wanted it in the 70's. I bought Jones/NY, Halston, Kenzo. I bought a pattern because it would fit me and could be made quickly of scraps and remnants.

   By rights, the only thing I should be doing, all day and every day, is sorting things into "keep" boxes and "toss" boxes.

 I should not even have noticed the little dolls. There are still 30 dolls to be sewn for in the box to be given to charity. Clamoring at me from within a blue plastic bin was vintage Jem and the Misfits, and no, I can't tell you which one. Another was Tinkerbell, dressed in a crocheted schmatta, but still Tink. I cannot explain putting  two dollar store dolls into my cart, not at all. I don't understand it myself. 

Nor do I understand why my friend pounced on odd dolls and waved them in front of my face. I should not buy things, I said as we walked in. Why, bless her enabling little heart, did she increase the temptation? If I failed to spot a doll as I walked through, that's good. Why did she call attention to a multi-jointed big headed doll with inset eyes and the ability to wear wigs, Liv. 

I'd read about her, decided I might want one when I got to Texas because even a $14 doll was not currently in the budget. Once the doll was in a bin, under my hand, and costing less than $2 per lb., there was a physical need to own it. Why does that doll have a hole in the back of her head? Because the wigs have a popbead stem that goes in there. Clever. I also ended up with a redheaded Moxie Girl, an $18 doll with pop off shoe/feet. She's the successor to the Bratz dolls, slightly less trampy but still with a bizarre shape. So what if she's wearing unmatched boots?

 I console myself that this lapse into consumerist GottaHaveIt only cost $8.