The Pitfalls of Bargain Shopping

For some reason Curt and I took it into our heads to go shopping at the Premium Outlet Mall yesterday. Let the record show that’s the last time we’ll try that stunt on a weekend.

People were getting mowed down like bowling pins in the parking lot; the queues for a crappy cardboard plate of Chinese in the food court were 40 feet long; and don’t even get me started on the crowd waiting to be given dispensation to enter the Coach Factory Store. You’re standing in a freaking line at least a hundred feet long OUTSIDE THE STORE before being allowed inside, two-by-two, to view and purchase the handbags? President Obama, I have good news: the recession is over.

But O – M – G. Unbeknownst to me, Shangri-La awaited. How in the world had it escaped my notice that an entire Lindt chocolate store exists, devoted solely to the exploitation of addicts such as myself?

Almost as soon as we began our mall meander, I spied it. “Let’s pop in here and see what they’re selling.” My feint didn’t fool Curt, who knows of my heart’s greatest vice (aside from competitive frugality). If Lindor balls (technically Lindor Truffles) had any earning capacity, I’d have dumped Curt and married them years ago. He recognizes and accepts this fact.

Imagine bins filled with every variety of the tasty little demons at $7.50 per pound. Imagine 45-piece bags of the dreamy confections, on sale two for $20. Do the math, people—that’s 22 cents apiece! But wait—what is this in the back of the store? Let me sit down. Bring mama her defibrillator. Irregulars? Whole bags of mint-filled dark chocolate gratification, unencumbered by wrappers (the easier to pop in one’s mouth as the mood strikes)? Does that sign say $5.99 a pound? Why yes, Virginia, it does.

I’m almost sure I heard angels singing.



The sum total of my outlet-shopping spoils

 And do the math, I did. This cheapskate Dutchwoman made sure she got the best deals in the store. Since the mints were the only one of my favorite varieties available as irregulars, I had to buy the extra-dark and the peanut butter types in traditional bags.

The first two irregular mint balls we downed were just empty chocolate shells, devoid of any mint truffle filling. Never mind that; I’d gotten a bargain. Don’t rain on my parade.

People who know me well are keenly aware of the fact that I constantly agonize over weight and nutrition, and often make indiscriminate vows to change my evil ways. Vegetarian? Low-carb? Gluten-free? Sustainability? Glycemic index? I can hold up any end of a debate. But just in case anyone feels they might be justified in chastising me for my dietary imprudence in purchasing over three pounds of pure melt-in-your-mouth joy: you do understand that the Lindor balls were a great bargain, right? Not to mention gluten-free, and a great source of antioxidants.

Who knows how long this windfall may last me. Today I ate approximately ten balls (who’s counting?). At that rate, maybe two weeks? By my calculations, that’s a $60/month habit. Cheaper than cigarettes. On the other hand, ten cigarettes don’t contain 700 calories.

I could run seven miles a day. I could take the balls to work and share them with my co-workers. I could save them for the grandkids’ Easter baskets. Great suggestions, all.

Or, I could prudently limit myself to one ball per day, starting tomorrow. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.