Spending £90 on
two shirts has put me in a full-scale panic.
I went out with
the intention of buying something new to wear onstage. I haven’t bought clothes
in an aeon and it’s starting to show. I have two shirts I would describe as my best which are in constant rotation. There’s only so many times you can wash
and flash-dry the same outfit before it starts to degrade. The contents of my
wardrobe could double as an illustration of coastal erosion.
I was all set to
go somewhere closer to my budget (rhymes with 'text'), when I noticed my favourite - and pricier – clothes shop had a 50% sale. You can’t argue with that.
Whether the discount would equal the sale price of an item from my intended
destination is up for debate (answer: “no’), but it was worth a look. This is how they lure you in.
There were a
number of shirts on the rail outside suiting my remit (i.e. “slight
hint of wallpaper”). All were at a marked down price. There was no way
I’d have considered them at the going rate – spending £95 on a shirt is
ludicrous, unless it comes with a dresser who'll hold the arms open each time you slide in – but the discount brought them into the realms of
possibility. Just.
I took so many
into the changing room, and spent so long trying them on, that I felt I had to buy
something. I know: poor excuse. The two I went for were nice, but slightly bigger
than I’d have liked. I wish I’d just bought one. Spending money makes me worry. I’d take one back, but they only have an exchange policy.
At
least when I wear one at tomorrow’s Mostly Comedy, I can’t be
accused of not having any new material. It'll also make the shirt tax deductible. Well
done me.