Plausible deniability

I was cheered yesterday by the arrival of a pair of new sock trainers.

This purchase falls outside of the, shop not, train of thought because they are a direct replacement for a worn out, much beloved pair of the same.

I know what you’re thinking, face and body of a plump and middle aged woman, feet of a Japanese student. You are not wrong, but I don’t care. I bought the originals in a sale and cannot remember exactly what I paid for them. This may be because my memory is poor for trivial matters.

Having said that I can remember what shoes and underwear I was wearing on almost every day of my life. Some may think this level of recall is a thing of wonder, but I worry that this information is taking up brain space that could be put to better use.

Where was l? On the other hand I may not remember how much they were because I refused to acknowledge it. If I buy a foolishly expensive item I can refuse to remember the cost. I encourage any guilt ridden spend thrift to develop this skill.

In forgetting what I paid, I have access to a degree of plausible deniability should some petty, penny pincher wish to grill me on my spending habits at some point down the line.

I have a second tactic used mostly with strangers.

I own a very beautiful purse. It’s small, it cost a lot. I had to leave Liberty, have coffee and calm down before committing to the purchase. I have never regretted buying it, it gives me joy daily, it has worn so well, for so many years that it can’t be classed as an extravagant buy any longer. (Don’t forget all ye consumers, price divided by number of times used gives you the true cost of an item. Fact.) That said, I deny knowledge of its cost regularly. Often when I have it in my hand ready to pay at a till, the cashier will comment on its gorgeousness, and ask about its origins. I just can’t bear to tell a woman with great taste, who is possibly on minimum wage or there about, with a family and a mortgage, how much it cost.

I’m not sure if I’m saving her disappointment or me embarrassment.

I lie, I tell them it was a gift.

Back to my sock trainers, in my search for a replacement I’ve seen a variety of them, essentially they all look the same to me, ugly, but prices have ranged from around £100 to around £700. I bought my new ones for £12.50 plus postage and they’re great.

Kerching!