Sweating the small stuff

I am a sucker for life’s little luxuries. I’m not a big spender, and, with the exception of impulsive clothing purchases, I like to think I am a reasonable shopper most days. That said, when I tried to come up with just one thing I wouldn’t give up, I had a really, really, really tough time. I must preface the rest of this blog with the admission that I am a pack rat. When my folks moved out of our childhood home, I emptied a grand total of twelve full-sized trashbags out of my bedroom alone, not to mention the boxes of “important” books and papers that I’d made them save in the basement, attic, and/or guest room closet. What I didn’t throw out, I either brought with me to my new apartment’s storage closet, or begged them to keep in their new basement. I just have a really hard time getting rid of much of anything. When I graduated law school, I had a similar gutting of my then one-bedroom apartment to be able to move into my 450 square-foot studio here in the city. And I gutted it again when HT and I moved in together last year.

So I guess my problem is that I feel like I’ve given up a lot of “stuff” lately. I donated three bags of old clothes to good-will; I sent all the decent and trendy clothes to a family friend who would appreciate my hand-me-downs far more than the back corners of my closet; I pitched even more college notebooks; and tossed a wide variety of knick-nacks and decorating items that I once found quaint and now found tacky. I tried as well as I could to purge our really, really discount furniture, despite hanging on to a decent percentage of Ikea furniture. Baby steps, right?

Rather than an impending move, the economy is now knocking at the door, asking me to give up more things, purge further habits. But budgetary downsizing isn’t as easy as packing up highschool notebooks into heavy-duty yard-waste trash bags and throwing them into a dumpster. Economic restraint involves a day-to-day discipline—a willingness to part ways with the little amenities that I, as a member of the entitled generation have had relatively little practice with. That’s why I failed to come up with one single thing that I insisted upon retaining. Instead, I opted for my top five little things that I refuse to give up in their entirety. Call me materialistic, call me selfish, call me what you will—I’m not letting them go.

My hairdryer. I have naturally wavy hair, but insist on wearing it straight. This is impossible without a good hairdryer. I’m not particular, I’d even buy a ten-dollar one if my current one breaks, but I’m keeping it. Mine.

Our plasma TV. This was my one very, very impulsive buy. It was on sale; we got a good deal. And I know how tremendously shallow this sounds, but once you’ve watched the Masters with every single blade of gorgeous green glass visible and shuddering in the wind and bouncing at each ball strike, you won’t go back. I swear.

Pantyhose. Most women would part with these instantly. The bane of the female existence, I don’t particularly care for them either. BUT, I have really sweaty feet. Without panty hose, even in summer, I get terrible blisters on my feet without them. It’s a miniscule expense anyways, but I’m keeping my stock plentiful.

The occasional dinner out. Okay. Maybe more than occasional even. I love eating out. That’s part of the pleasure of living in a big city—lots of ethnic food options for take out, and lots of fine dining for the times when you really want to treat yourself. I’ll gladly forgo the caviar and escargot, but when I don’t feel like cooking or when HT and I are in need of a date-night, we’re going out. Economy be damned.

Starbucks on those really, really sleepy mornings. I wasn’t a coffee drinker before this year anyways, so I don’t have the addiction that requires me to hit up Starbucks each and every day. But there are definitely days on which I barely make it out of bed, or just generally can’t stomach the idea of spending the entire day in the office. Those are the days that I find myself standing in line at the Starbucks in the lobby of my office building. Those are the days when the weaker stuff they brew upstairs in the hospitality kitchen just doesn’t cut it. And throw in a chocolate old fashioned donut for good measure.