Embarrassment of Riches

For the vast majority of my life, I've been in a socio-economic strata I'd categorize at between low- and low-middle-income. I, like my parents, have learned to be creative with managing expenses and making do with what some people would not feel like was enough. Daphne has gotten used to this and when she was about 4 years old, noticed a house "for sale" and was excited because "we love sales!"

A few weeks ago, Daphne mentioned something about our being poor, and I told her that, really, we're not so much anymore. It's funny that she didn't notice, though, because I guess we're just in the habit of spending prudently.

Honestly, thought... the art supplies she has aren't things I would have bought before. I'm glad that we can help contribute toward her passion and talent. And I say "we" because it's a team effort. James is an awesome husband and the main wage-earner in our household. I am so grateful that he takes care of us, and that he seems to love it. For my part, I do the budgeting and the bookkeeping. Although we live in a place where we could eat out every day, somewhere totally different, I cook dinner at home at least six nights a week. I make our lunches every day. And breakfasts.

We sometimes indulge and buy things we don't strictly "need," like the speakers we purchased online last week so that we don't have to strain to hear programs we watch together. We watch everything on the laptop because we don't have a television.

But what makes me laugh is this: I always thought that I wish I had enough money to dress nicely. At this point in our lives, I could buy the clothes that I want, without paying too much attention to sales or thrift stores. However, two things hold me back: First are deeply-ingrained beliefs that articles of clothing like shirts shouldn't cost more than $20 unless they are super fancy, with a bunch of sparkly things or multiple layers or gold bars in the pockets. Second is a deep hatred of shopping in general.

I need new shoes. Like, I legitimately need new shoes. My black "dress" shoes are clogs that look like Pilgrim shoes. They don't stay on my feet when I walk up stairs unless I clinch my toes and take my time. They are scuffed and falling apart at every seam that they have. I should go buy a replacement pair of shoes. But I can't. Why? The thought of going to a store and trying on shoes is completely repellent to me. There are so many things I'd rather do, like writing this blog post about how much I hate shopping.

Same thing with clothes. I don't know what my "style" is. I know that I can layer things and they look okay, but I don't have an intuition about separate pieces and what to buy to put together, and I don't like fussing too much about what I wear. I admire people who have whole outfits, complete with jewelry and belts and all of that, but the whole ordeal is exhausting to me.

What happens is that I end up buying things online and they either don't fit right (because I usually buy from Asia because their stuff is so cheap, but it's a crap shoot what size actually means) or they don't look right on my body, which is something that I would know if I'd tried an item on at a store. In a fitting room. The very thought causes me to tear out my hair.

I guess what I'm saying is that I need a personal shopper. Except that I also have a philosophical break against paying someone to do something that I'm completely capable of doing myself and have no excuse not to do.

Meanwhile, James is in his office right now on a Skype call, having put in over 100 hours of work since last weekend. I want to honor him by stewarding that for which he works so hard. We are truly blessed.