Crisis in Denim

Every once in awhile I get this idea in my head about economizing. You know, following those tips they give you in magazines about how you can make little every-day savings add up. Those never work for me.

Here’s an example: One day I packed a lunch and some snacks for work, so I wouldn’t be tempted to buy lunch out yet again. Need I tell you that I felt oh-so virtuous, what with my can of V8 vegetable juice. And need I tell you that when I went to drink it, the juice dribbled right down the front of my sweater and onto my favorite black wool pants, leaving me with a dry-cleaning bill that was equal to– if not more than– the cost of a lunch. Anyway.

Oh, and need I bring up the Pink Suede Trenchcoat Incident of 2009, in which I spent about $10 dollars to NOT sell my pink suede trench coat on eBay?

But some old clothes horses never learn. So this March I decided to consign some pieces of my wardrobe to a shop in Brookline called Eva B. 

I confess, I did so with trepidation. I mean, some of these clothes carried some memories. There were the two Ann Taylor outfits I’d worn to my friend Karey’s wedding weekend. There was the skirt with the mermaid hem I’d worn to the dinner where I won my first-ever journalism award. What if every single one of Eva B.’s shoppers rejected them?

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