Growing up, I knew that it was bad to spend money and sinful to buy things at full price

T

he lime-green blouse hung there in Marshalls, whispering my name. I fingered it, taking note of the fabric and design, and then slowly made my way down to the price tag: $24.99. My heart sank.

Anything up to $19.99 was okay. Four shirts for $14.99 each? Sure. But one at $24.99? No. That was not a “good deal.” The shirt stayed on the rack.

My mother never needed nice things, and neither did her mother, nor, probably, her mother before her. Nice things were unimportant and frivolous. Besides, we didn’t deserve them. Growing up, I knew that it was bad to spend money and sinful to buy things at full price.