What we have here is the Emma Bust Exerciser, made in Germany, Hamburg to be precise. I picked up this gem at the Sally Ann on 12th, the one with the great big basement full of junk. The writing on the unit is German: “Brust Trainingsgerat,” it says, and it’s so great that English and German have a few things in common, because you don’t need to know any German at all to understand what this little machine is for. Continue reading
My wedding dress before the boob job (the dress's, not mine)
As someone who prides herself on spending as little as humanly possible on clothes—25 cents for a plaid skirt, $15 for Frye-ish campus boots, $2 for a coat worn by a former chauffeur (chauffeuse?) of Winston Churchill’s—I decided it would be extravagant to spend any more than $100 on my wedding dress.
Now, most brides-to-be are willing to pay hundreds, even thousands, of dollars on that dress they’re only ever going to wear once. I think they’re insane, and I’m sure that if I asked, they’d say I was, well, cheap. But I’m also pretty sure those gals are not reading this blog (is anyone?), so we’ll never have to have that conversation.
When I went looking, my first stop was craigslist. Nothing (although I got a kick out of those ads from recent brides trying to get rid of their dresses, where they use their own wedding pictures with their faces blurred out). I checked the thrift stores; Value Village had one or two heavy, long-sleeved ’50s/’60s dresses for between $25 and $50. But they just didn’t stand out. Besides, they would be too hot—we were getting married in Winnipeg, in August, where temperatures can get infernal. Long sleeves would simply not do. Continue reading
The problem—one of the problems—with tightwads is that we value money over time, often to a pathological degree. Hence, instead of paying for something we could—at least conceivably—do or make ourselves, we will almost always choose to do or make it ourselves—no matter the time commitment or skill level required. People who are clever and creative at this kind of thing are called DIYers. People who are not are called deluded.
I fall into the latter category. Case in point: I decided to make my own wedding invitations. Easy peasy, I thought, I’ll just go to that big craft superstore—you know the one—and buy one of those print-it-yourself invitation kits. The store has lots of cute designs where all you have to do is put in the wording, print it out, cut two holes in which to insert a ribbon (so you can embellish the invitation with a bow), and Bob’s your uncle. Or is he? Continue reading