I’m a sucker for bargains.

My clothes closet is full of them. Complete with sales tags.

It’s like an obsession. Otherwise I have no explanation for a pair of red velvet pants and four blue flowered tops that all seem to have the same pattern.

There are only two dresses in my closet. Same dresses, different colors. It must have been a two-for-one sale. I’ve never worn either of them though I did wash one of them when it ended up on the floor and the cat threw up on it.

I must have thought they were going to stop making jeans because I’ve got a boat-load of them. Most are in the chest of drawers in my overflow closet in the office/bedroom. All are in three different sizes.

Jogging tops and bottoms are also among items I can’t pass up. Most are black or jock gray, but some are peach-colored, pale turquoise or red. They double as pajamas.

There’s also a gold metalic blouse on the closet floor surrounded by more shoes than Carter’s got pills. I have no idea what possessed me to buy it because it’s sleazy, and it’s sleeveless.

Picture it: me at age five in church. Mother rested her arm over the pew and I took the opportunity to jiggle her underarm back and forth.

It was fun.

I laughed.

Daddy snickered.

Momma frowned.

God remembered that, and is wicked with His paybacks. Although I have some age-appropriate short sleeve blouses I try to remember to wear cover-ups so my upper arms don’t show. That way no one will ever know about my aging, sagging and wrinkled arms unless I have a hot flash … or if they read this.

I need to follow the advice that a former boss gave his talkative wife at a party: “Don’t tell everything you know tonight, Bonnie, because you won’t have anything to talk about tomorrow.”