When the shopping itch takes hold, the stores I use to scratch it are not the glamorous ones with shiny tile and bright lights. No, I hasten to the thrift stores, the secondhand Rose types, the ones that might be scary if you pull up to them alone after the sun has gone down. I love rifling through the treasures that someone had trouble parting with, the strange odds and ends that used to reside in someone else’s kitchen, living room, garage, and bedroom. Will I find something truly valuable, discarded like so much rubbish amongst the unwanted text books and outgrown play clothes? Will I find that “thing I’ve been looking for all my life,” hidden amongst the fake flowers or ancient Christmas décor? There are certain thrift stores I avoid – the mark-ups they put on someone else’s tax write-offs are laughable. It’s the realistic thrift stores that will always get my repeat business.