Midsummer Madness

Purples and oranges, pinks and limes, temple golds, pthalo blue, sweet pea pinks, all the glorious colours of high summer jostling together on the 'Sale' rails, waiting  for me to splurge.

I can sniff a sale a mile away. My pulses race. I'm going to buy. Let's see what's on offer.  Crunchy crochet tops, eau-de-nil green cardies, jewelled sandals, I love them all, though my wardrobe is stuffed with clothes, many I've forgotten about.  Never mind,  there's nothing like a new outfit to cheer a girl up (even an old girl). Muslins, thick cottons, heavy linens, velvets, oh! oh! so beauiful. The smell, the feel. The money I'm saving, though it's nothing to do with saving, it's all about the pleasure of spending.

But, as I've learnt, you must keep your wits sharpened. Take a matching pair of shoes in a store. Good idea, trying  them both on. Why? One was a size 5, the other a 6. I call the assistant, who is as bemused as myself.

There was this  navy jersey dress with a centre panel of whisper soft silk that I'd been eyeing for a few weeks.  Sleeveless, it was little more than a large T-shirt, but worn over a pair of leggings, I could saunter down the Croissette in Cannes and be mistaken for someone with Gallic style, I hoped.
The only thing wrong with the dress was the price.   At £66 it was a trifle steep for something which, after a few washes, might be more backpacker chic than French Riviera smart. But hey ho! it came down in the sales.

First it was slashed to a 30 % reduction, making it £46.20, but, though like John Gilpin's wife on pleasure I am bent, I am not that extravagant, if you understand, so I exercised steely will power and waited for the Big One.  50%, that is. (The one I really like is 70%, but I don't chance that, not being massively large or noticeably tiny.)

I found my size, took it to the till and presented my card.  Fortunately, instead of casting my eyes around in a last gasp to see what else was delectable, I noticed that £46.20 had been rung up. 

Ever so patiently, I explained that the reduction was now 50%, making the price £33.  The assistant looked at me as though  trying to decide if I was capable of mental arithmetic. She then turned the label this way and that. After much pondering, she pronounced  I was correct and yes, she should have remembered for she'd sold one at £33 earlier that morning.

Well, prices are falling quicker than autumn leaves, so perhaps that's why staff get confused.

Two weeks ago I bought a half price dress.  No quibble over the price but there was a wait for the changing rooms.  I hate waiting, so bought the dress, a designer in-store label, took it home, tried it on and it fitted, but I had to find a petticoat to go under it.  Surprise, surprise. My daughters had been into the same store the day before (thirty miles away in Carmarthen) and realised that a petticoat came with the dress, though it hadn't with mine.  They'd seen a forlorn rail festooned with odd peticoats in the store.
A quick phone call on my part, an apology on theirs, and the slip arrived in the post the next day and in the correct size.

Perhaps I should  pop out and buy something else, just to get over the strain of it all.