How a Freebie Got Expensive and Made Me Cry (LynnK)

Yesterday, I went to a movie. Only because I had a free pass set to expire today, and no sane adult goes to a multiplex on a holiday weekend. Not even us semi-sane adults. My plan was to sneak in on a Friday morning, enjoy a show, and be home before the Fourth of July weekend turns Coronado into a cheerful madhouse.

At the ticket counter, I had to make a choice. The Fantastic Four/Silver Surfer (huh?) was a quick no. I can’t see Pirates of the Caribbean #3 until I see #2. The new Die Hard flick? That can wait. Ah! Ocean’s 13. George Clooney. Yum.

But this is a weekend for patriotism and social responsibility (not to mention barbeque), so I chose the now-kinder, gentler Michael Moore’s Sicko. Except it didn’t start for 15 minutes, which meant a little mall-wandering. Or as I call it, exercise.

Taking care to stay clear of Cinnabon, Nordstrom’s, and other irresistible temptations, I inadvertently stumbled directly into harm’s way. What followed was all Jennifer Crusie’s fault.

Whenever I see her, Jenny is wearing something comfortable, kewl, and casually classy. And whenever I profess admiration for her outfit (translation: "I want to mug you in the stairwell and make off with your outer garments"), she says two words. Well, an initial and a word. J.Jill.

And there it was. The Store. So neat. So refined. So unsuitable for me, slouchy in jeans and sneakers, having a really bad hair day. I wouldn’t have crossed the sacred portal if not for the summons issued by window display . . . a huge poster sporting the ultimate four-letter word:

SALE!

In a heartbeat, I was pawing through the discount racks, slipping on jackets and–unusual Kerstan shopping behavior--putting things back when they didn’t look good on me. As the quintessential hunter-gatherer shopper, I rarely leave a splendid bargain unsnatched.

Never mind that I already have too many clothes. The RWA Conference is looming. How could I wear something there that I wore at a previous conference for a couple hours? In a crowd of 2000 women who don’t remember what I wore then or care what I look like now? The horror. The horror.

OK, it’s not rational. But in the pre-Conference time of year, I, too, go cheerfully mad.

Besides, how much trouble could I get into with only a few minutes to shop? As it turns out, very little. One dusky-rose linen-blend duster, marked down from $60 to $20. No time to buy, though, so the clerk agreed to hold it while I went to see my movie.

That’s where the crying happened, in between the laughing and the fury. But it was mostly crying, for the fate of fellow Americans (insured or not) who have the misfortune to get sick. I was red-eyed and feeling mighty feisty two hours later, when I returned to J.Jill for my duster.

And spotted another greatly discounted and eminently packable thingie–didn’t even care what it was--which I grabbed because I wanted to feel good again. And then I saw a terrific jacket that was clearly meant to be mine. The lone petite size in the store, a return from a catalogue sale. But it was a little small. Awww. So they checked other stores in California, and now the next size up will be shipped to me from Los Angeles. In time for the Conference. J. Jill is nothing if not helpful. Even for a 75%-off item.

Really, I spent very little money, and I know I’ll get good use from my purchases. But as I barely missed the bus home and walked around the San Diego harbor for awhile with my cute J.Jill shopping bag on my arm, I couldn’t help thinking about what I must do next. Find a way, however small, to make a change for people who have not been so lucky as I.

Most of my adult life, I had no insurance. My mother (a Navy widow with health benefits) worried about it constantly. But my workplace offered nothing, and neither of us could afford to insure me. Besides, I never got sick.

After she died, though, I knew she’d want me to use my share of the sale of her little house to buy insurance. So I did, and when I was later diagnosed with late-stage ovarian cancer, my HMO treated me fairly and effectively.

Others are not so fortunate. And in future I’d like to make a difference for them, in memory of my mother. Not yet sure how to be of use. But I’ll certainly have to cut back on the unnecessary shopping.

Right after I find the perfect trousers to go with that jacket.