tonight i should be going to puppy training classes, i have been going for five weeks...
but i alas i cannot go, for i have to play truant.
i may pay for my 'skipping class' ways, but i am beside myself with needing to get a thrifty fix, i have 'the shakes' and 'the sweats' and it isn't pretty.
i find it extraordinary that my puppy trainer chooses to run her class on the very same evening, at the very same time, as was my regular 'thrifting time'.
for five weeks i have driven past the thrift store and headed straight to class like a good girl. removed little olive from the car and taken her into the 'lions den' full of big, big puppies that all wish little olive to be 'theirs'.
for five weeks i have watched her look at me with those eyes that say "why? please tell me, what have i ever done to you?" ( i could list a few words like couch, carpet, chicken poo, but it seems unfair when in the lions den)
i was all set to go tonight, i felt strongwilled enough to put my thrifting evening once again to the sidelines and then it happened.
i blame my mother.
("ooooh, Tif... that's just wicked that is!" i hear you exclaim)
quite right you are dear readers, a very wicked thing to say, especially as my mother is a lovely caring soul who goes about her busy day in old blighty, traipsing the charity stores and vintage stalls on my behalf. apart from the lovely linens and lace she finds, she also sends me magazines from across the pond so i may enjoy a read with my cup of tea.
and that is precisely what caused me to fall from the straight and narrow, allowing me to lose my 'puppy training' driven ways and to start hearing
"just think Tif, could be something just peachy perfect waiting for you tonight" in my little ear... oh yes, the thrifty devil is back on my shoulder making me say such wicked words about my mother.
let me enlighten you...
yesterday, it was an ordinary evening in the life of moi, as i 'hopped, skipped and jumped' to the mail box (actually it was more like stumble, due to lack of daylight and street lighting) however it really doesn't matter how i got there, but i did... and within the piles of 'dullness' was an envelope from my mother containing
i love reading this magazine, i feel it gives me hope that one day, in years to come i may just have digested a piece of valuable 'country living' advice and put it into practise. thus far in my life, i tend to just gaze at the pictures of lovely back yards, prized veggie patches and fabulous cooking advice, daydreaming and a wishing.
as i flipped quickly through, whilst looking like i was clearing the kitchen, picking up used socks, shouting instructions to death ears around the shed, my eyes alighted
upon page 97.
and that is where i fell by the wayside.
the most loveliest of lovely fashion pages...
perfect in every way
showing me what i already know to be true
floral and knits are a match made in heaven...
and then i started to 'twitch'.
i 'twitched' several times further
by the time i reached page 102,
the 'thrifty devil' had appeared upon my shoulder.
"but i have no time this week dearest devil, my evenings are taken up in a perpetual round of dance, gym, soccer, school events and puppy classes" i fought back...
"you light weight, call yourself a 'handcrafted thrifty' mama, since when did you ever let family life get in the way of a 'thrifty kill'... you're going soft in your old age" and he continued to taunt me, even at bedtime as he made himself comfy upon my pillow.
as i fell into a slumber i recall myself making a 'pact with the thrifty devil' and his charming ways.
and so here i am this morning, already thinking of a 'fibbing excuse' for missing class and another 'fibbing excuse' to the kids as to why we can't go.
is it enough to say
"well your mama needs to go thrifting for a cardigan"?
no it is not
i need to get canny, i need to get good at deceit
i need to ask the advice from my new friend 'mr thifty devil' on my shoulder...
she shall return tomorrow, with news of whether the 'thrifty kill' was worth the 'fibs' and if not, she is thinking perhaps fashioning something from the underneath of her couch which has appeared upon her floor, courtesy of little olive ~ Tif
footynote: all images courtesy of the fabby 'country living' magazine that appeared in my mail box