Gah, I hate buyer's remorse.
In fact, I hate it so deeply that I will often not buy ANYTHING for fear I may regret it later. I'm still not entirely over a bad lamp purchase in 2002.
And yet, the thrill of thrifting is always tempered by the risky business of letting something go. Of passing it on by.
Of letting someone else share the thrifty, frugal love.
Case in point: The feather bed.
The feather bed was a cardboard box stuffed full of feather stuffed comforter labeled "Queen Down Comforter, $5."
Well heck, $5 is a great price for a cardboard box! Let alone a queen size comforter that could easily retail for hundreds upon hundreds of dollars.
So I trucked that sucker right to the front of the church rummage sale where it was captive, intending to liberate it for my own home
Except that somewhere between my featherbed dreams and reality I started to second guess myself.
Feathers are not down, feathers are feather. This makes them poky. Not as in slow but as in they will cut you in your sleep if you are not careful. I know because I have a pillow like this. My very most favorite must-grab-in-case-of-fire pillow is older than your grandparents and mine - a regular WWII era pillow, and I do love it so. Still, I do know from a feather poke from time to time.
Worse, holding up the item at checkout a general consensus of three elderly helpers and I decreed that it was far closer to a double than a queen.
This, I decided, meant that the fates didn't want me to have it and I WALKED AWAY FROM A FIVE DOLLAR FEATHER COMFORTER.
Clearly, I am an idiot.
Of epic proportions.
Tonight, it eats at me. My comforter that wasn't. I sit here and scheme and dream of arriving at the rummage sale bright and early to find my comforter awaits.
On half-price day, no less.
Hey, a girl can dream ...