Only twice in my life have I participated in a Black Friday sale. And both times were awful. There isn’t anything I need badly enough to put myself in the middle of extreme shoppers trying to save a few dollars. I’d rather pay full price, or do without.
The first item that brought me out at daybreak the day after Thanksgiving was a Liz Claiborne sweater I had admired at Gayfer’s but didn’t feel I could afford. Even though I had a small child at the time, I set the alarm for before daylight that Friday, left my son at home with his father, and rushed to the mall to get a “deal” on the sweater – only to find that it was not marked down at all.
The second item I fought the crowds for is even more embarrassing to admit: an inexpensive vegetable chopper that Walmart marked down to half price for its Black Friday sale. After making my way through a mass of intense people on the verge of turning aggressive, I got to Appliances only to find that the “limited supply” of choppers had sold out.
Both of those experiences were decades ago, but they taught me well to stay home and eat leftovers the day after Thanksgiving, and be thankful that I don’t have any desire to be a part of that brilliant marketing scheme called Black Friday.
So this past Friday, I slept late, made split pea soup in the Crockpot, and, over the course of the weekend, re-watched all eight Harry Potter movies with my son and dogs. It was a perfect Black Friday that cost me nothing, and gave me much pleasure.
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