Yesterday, while tooling around on High Street Kensington, my eyes were drawn to a large sign in Warehouse proudly proclaiming clothes for under £20! Under £15! And -- surely not -- under £10! Yes, the season of summer sales is upon us, even though we've yet to truly experience summer-like weather.
Not that I'm complaining. My meager budget barely allows me the extravagances of Primark, let alone the high street. Still, every summer I seem to end up buying things I don't need and, in retrospect, I don't even like. A moth to a flame, I was drawn inside the store, my eyes glazing over as I took in the row after row of bargains. I plucked two dresses from their hangers and plodded my way over to the fitting rooms, my legs moving as if of their own accord.
Pivoting in front of the mirror, one refrain managed to push itself through the consumerism-induced fog of my brain: Do I need this? I tore the dress off as if it was poisoned, hung it up and shoved it at the sales assistant. I would not be tempted; I would not buy yet another useless item I couldn't afford.
Out on the sidewalk, I breathed a sigh of relief. I had escaped, unscathed. Just another two months of summer sales to go!