Falling Into Fifties

I’m long past that awkward, self-conscious stage.

I was never fashionable and so never had any street cred. But still, being around twelve or thirteen, I would steer my Mum away from the Oxfam window she was about to look in, lest any school friend should see us.

“Scav!” would be the gibe.

Thrift shops I think the Americans call them.

At what point do your scruples change?

Last week I got a pair of jeans for £3.50. I’ve also picked up a jacket for £7.00.

Is this my market now? Falling into my fifties.

It also seems appropriate that I’m mulling this over while passing through a late autumn afternoon, dappled fields lost to a host of daddy longlegs and spiders; ground conceded to the worms of the earth.


7 thoughts on “Falling Into Fifties

  1. Most of my shopping is done in charity shops. Not so when I was aged 12 and rushing mum past shops which were smelly and unfashionable back then. 50 is the new 30. We’re younger now than we would have been at the same age 20 years ago. Ponderous thoughts mulled over while wearing mittens, jackets and hoods in the house while trying to save on the heating.

    Liked by 1 person

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