If I have my way, I'll never walk into a warehouse club again. Why? Because I know for a fact that unless your last name is "Duggar," you don't need 48 rolls of toilet paper or a jug of laundry detergent that requires a "lift with your knees" reminder.
And yes, the yogurt at the supermarket is 10 for $10. But I only need two. Why let good food crowd my fridge just so I can save a couple of bucks? And if that food hits its expiration date before I get to eat it (which happens quite often in my house) I've actually lost money now, haven't I?
Does anyone really need 12 handbags? Or three-dozen pairs of shoes? I can tell you from personal experience that no, most definitely, no one does. I know this because in one day, half of the possessions my husband and I had worked most of our adult lives to purchase wound up destroyed in the four feet of water that filled my home after Hurricane Sandy hit New York.
As I stood in my damp, musty house, picking through sopping wet piles of purchases and throwing them into huge black plastic bags, my heart hurt from the effort. So much stuff that we once had but didn't anymore: My favorite Franco Sarto boots. The portfolio filled with all my first published clips.
But as I sorted through the damage, I quickly realized that "stuff" fell into two categories: replaceable and irreplaceable. The boots? Replaceable. The newspaper clippings? Gone forever.