When I go shopping, I see lots of people with shopping carts overflowing with stuff. I see myself several years ago, or actually not too long ago shopping at Sam's Club.
Then I look into my cart. I had a 10-pack of Ivory soap, a gallon of milk, a plastic washtub, some drain cleaner and a bag of Timothy for the guinea pigs. I had picked up some mushrooms and some chocolate but put them back after some thought.
I really didn't need the washtub, but the metal bowl I use to rinse my dishes in wasn't very satisfying when the time comes to rinse larger items.
I found myself wandering the aisles just looking at the choices. Retractable clothes lines for seven dollars each when a 99-cent piece of cord would suffice. Chunks of wood packaged to stuff in your closet - when the spruce tree you had for Christmas could have been cut up and used to scent your closet just as well.
Boxes made out of fabric covered cardboard--the type of craft I've tinkered with since I was a kid--but my boxes said Eggs on the side!
I could go on but there is no real point.
I felt like an outsider watching a strange ritual today as I wandered around the store. I passed people debating on clothes and cleaning supplies alike, cringing because I feel like I'm carrying a deep dark secret.
The few people I have told about this - most think I'm crazy. I told one friend about making laundry soap and was scolded for not telling him I needed money to buy laundry detergent.
I feel lonely as a result of my frugality. Friends shake their heads because I sold my queen-sized bed when I moved here and now sleep on a small cot in an even smaller room. Instead of a couch we have a rattan loveseat--the dog is the only one who uses it so why waste money on a couch?
Somehow it is all okay however. I am marching to the beat of my own personal drummer. I am not going to give in like I have in the past and follow my spendthrift friends.
I hope not, anyway.