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I don’t think anyone would ever call me stingy, but I’m not a big spender either. I choke at the cost of a pricey new outfit, and cringe when the grocery store checker reads me the grand total. I consider myself a relatively frugal person, but there’s one major fatal flaw in my frugality. I’m totally hopeless with coupons. It doesn't matter what kind—the “buy one get one free” deals on meals or the “cents off” for drugstore and grocery store items. When the cashier hands me coupons along with the receipt, the paper they are printed on is a waste of a good tree.
I love the idea of thrift. Who doesn’t want to save a few bucks when shopping? But somehow I seem to be unable to turn the theory of thrift into reality when it comes to saving money with coupons. I’ve placed a clipped stack right by my purse on the kitchen but managed to walk right out the door sans coupons anyway. I’ve even put them on the passenger seat of my car. That should work, right? You’d think. But, there I am, half way home with a full load of groceries before I notice the coupons sitting there, mocking me. Some things never change. I started to write this post, I came across a short piece of flash fiction I wrote a few years ago, based on my ineptitude for couponing. It sort of says it all. Full Price Frances was published in 2014 by ALongStoryShort; however, their links are no longer active so I’m going to copy the text and repost here. It’s light and a bit daft, but maybe it will make you smile. (Please click Read More, lower right, to see the whole story.) Full Price Frances With a sigh of impatience, Frances shoved the ad flyers, the scissors, and the remaining unclipped coupons to one side of the small kitchen table. She propped her sandalled feet onto the cleared space and switched her cell phone to her right ear. "I don't know, Michelle. This coupon-clipping thing is just so time-consuming." Frances tried to modulate the exasperation in her voice. She examined the chipped nail polish on her big toe while her sister's voice harangued in her ear. Darn, she was sure she had a $5.00 coupon for her next nail service, but where was it? "Michelle, I'm single. I just don't need that much stuff. I get out of the office so late, I usually just get take-out anyway… yes, I know you and Mom want me in your couponing club. Sounds like fun." Frances grimaced and picked at the ruined pedicure.
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 As of early this summer, my novel manuscript is undergoing a professional content edit. Based on input from this critique, I will make additional revisions.
I hope the publication process for DANCING BETWEEN THE BEATS will begin in 2019. Since this is my first post on my new blog, I thought a bit of an introduction might be in order—not to my writing, but to me. We never see ourselves the way others see us, so my perception of “me” might come as a surprise to those whose vision is otherwise.
I believe I’m an introvert trying hard to be an extrovert, which by the way, can be exhausting. Most of my pastimes are solitary: writing, photography, gardening, reading, perusing Facebook…. But, I also love to cook for people and entertain, so friends who have called me “the hostess with the mostess” are shaking their heads in disbelief at the word introvert. Well, here’s the thing about being an introvert; it’s easier to be the hostess of your own party than a guest at someone else’s. Seriously, think about it. You’ve chosen the guest list so you know everyone; you don’t have to make “so what do you do?” small talk; you can stay busy smiling, refreshing drinks, and making introductions. Even the shyest among us can manage that. The flip side, which just occurred to me, is that being more comfortable running the show might mean I’m a bit of a control freak. Hmmm. This might require a bit more thought. I’m also introspective to a fault, if you haven’t picked up on that already. This, I believe, is the underlying cause of my insomnia. I analyze past conversations and interactions ad infinitum, often beating myself up for something I either said, or should have said, or should have done. I’m self-conscious and insecure, which often conflicts with the image I project. Sometimes I over-compensate. The truth is something as simple as an initial coffee date with a new acquaintance completely intimidates me, and I’m never happy with how I come across. A lifetime of being who you are expected to be can leave you unsure of who you are. I’m more comfortable sending an email than picking up the phone. I can backspace, correct, and rethink an email. Chatting on the fly is another story. My mind goes either blank or I’ll blurt something out and bury you in too much information. With most people, an eye-to-eye chat is more within my comfort zone. Facial expressions and body language help keep me in check. |
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