Hello, and welcome to another rousing round of Saturday Steals, where what you get is what you see and what you see is cheap or free!

To participate, simply:

1) Steal a steal.

2) Write a post about it on your blog, mentioning that you’re participating in Saturday Steals (you can steal the above image if you so desire), and

3) Add the link to said post to the list at the bottom of this post.

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It’s three days before I’m scheduled to hop a flight and paint Europe red, and in an attempt to get my mind off my ever-growing list of things to do before I leave I head to town for a day of procrastination and thrift store shopping.

Not really following any agenda, I stop at my favourite thrift store first. Fairly new and generally unknown, it has some excellent prices and I consider it my own little thrifty secret.

I park George Jettson and lock him with the button on my key, his cheerful little beep reassuring me not only that he’s locked but also that all will be well with the world. (We’ve bonded, so sue me.)

I make my way up the steps and through the doors, assaulted by the distinct smell of secondhand stores the world over: the smell, musty and a little damp, is the scent of good deals.

Of steals.

I wander through furniture, through household knick knacks and dishes uninspired. Nothing speaks to me.

I lazily stroll through books and toys just for fun.

Finally, I veer into the women’s clothing aisle, though I’ve put on weight and not really in the mood to try on clothes. I figure if nothing else I can find some nice skirts to cut apart and make into flowers.

Nothing in shirts, nothing in jeans, nothing in athletic wear, but then: skirts.

Namely, the skirt.

It catches my eye, just a sliver of cream-colored flowy-looking goodness. My first thought is “Hair flowers!” but when I pull it off the rack I’m caught off-guard: this skirt is beautiful.

There’s something wrong with it, I’m sure. Flawed, damaged, stained or torn or something.

I inspect it: it is mint.

I peek at the label: No apparent brand. Canadian made. Dry clean only. Possibly vintage.

I check the price: $4.00. I am sold.

Not bothering to try it on because I feel instinctively it will fit, I take it to the till. The skirt is rung up: “Two dollars,” says the clerk.

“Only two?” I ask. “The tag says four.”

“It’s half-off day on clothes.”

The stuff of fairy tales.

In a steal-induced haze, I take my toonie skirt and float back to George Jettson. I forget I’d been planning on hitting up several thrift stores and head immediately back to Mayberry. I race inside. I rummage through my closet and find a blouse that might go with it. I slip off my sweatpants and into my new best skirt friend.

Verily, it is stunning.

But of course it looks better when twirled (although the twirler herself is one tall drink of awkward):

Delirious with visions of my chic trendy self wearing the skirt on Champs Elysees, I pack it in my suitcase. It takes practically zero space and never wrinkles. Even in my purse. Even through a nap. Even after 24 hours bunched up next to flip flops and deodorant. I wear it in Paris. I wear it on the Seine river cruise. I wear it at a classy baroque concert in England.

I sit in something black on a bus and have a mild heart attack. I take it home and pay more than the price of the skirt to have it dry cleaned.

It comes out good as new.

I live happily ever after.

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Now it’s your turn! What have you stolen lately?

Add your steal to the link list below to share it with the world. The list will be open from now till Sunday at 11:59 p.m.

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