Cash and Nonsence

I thought I'd treat myself to a new jacket to face the South Australian moors, so I gathered up the change in the coke bottle moneybox beside my bed. It was pretty full. The box had been stuffed with shrapnel after those nights when breaking note after note was more attractive than counting out correct change and thus I crashed through the door hours later jingling like a sleigh.

I dilligently piled little skyscrapers of coins into denominations, considering the adventures each tarnished 20 cent piece had been on before landing in my sweaty pocket. Turned out I had over 200 dollars in that box! I took myself off to the bank and proceeded directly on to this little shop on Smith Street called Some Buddy Loves You with the express intention of blowing the lot on the first thing I saw. This was the first thing I saw:



Yeah, I know.

It wouldnt be out of place in the Arctic Circle. Even though Melbourne's current forecast is light and bright and just a little crisp I persisted on wearing it out and about this week. It was like I'd wriggled into the middle of a rolled up sleeing bag before I left the house. 10 steps and I had a sheen of sweat on my forehead, another 10 and I was awkwardly slinging 10 pounds of quilting over my arm, struggling to maintain basic motor functions. Too difficult.

It was also one of those coats that command attention from the public, like wearing a t-shirt with 'JESUS IS A CUNT' written on it. At least that what it felt like. 'Look at me, Im wearing faux fur! In Autumn!' But then again I live off Smith Street, I saw a lady on the corner the other day with strawberry jam in her hair wearing a crochet bin liner and she barely caused a ripple.

Whats the go with buyers remorse? Is there a cooling off period for warm puffy jackets? I really wanted to return the coat, but In the meantime I'd lost the receipt and was frankly a little scared of what the humorlessly hip Buddy staff would make of my half-assed fashion persistance. But I took a deep breath and took myself back there, forming a fanciful tale in my head that I had been unexpectadly summoned to work in Arnham Land as a crisis Aid worker and would no longer have use for TopShop does Sir Edmund Hillary outerwear.

Turns out, I needant have worried. They swapped it over for a hoodie that cost 260 dollars. A 260 dollar jumper. I never said I wasnt a victim. So here's my new look, from forgotten monies, hard won:



Like it? It's nice, like. Got little cross hatches on it. And buttons and zips and funtime sundries.

Thing is, after all that, now I kinda miss the Arctic Circle one.