Dear Value Village:
You were my first. I was young, lured in by two older men. In mere moments, though, I was hopping like a junkie.
You were my first thrift store. My (slightly older) boyfriend drove his best friend and me over to you one frosty Saturday. I swear birds sang when I opened the door and gazed upon your aisles and aisles of awesomeness.
You got me hooked on vintage clothing — the gateway drug to antiques. First I was getting high on a green and yellow plaid men’s blazer. Soon I was freebasing a Victorian dresser at a Chattanooga antique market. I hit rock-bottom when I shipped an Art Deco fan home from a vacation in Maine. I had gone too far.
Though my house still features remnants from my wild past, I keep those collecting demons in check through small, regular doses of Gap ads and the Ikea catalog. If I’m having a rough day, I might need a Modern Home magazine infusion.
Thanks to Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, my past flashes in red neon every time I turn on the radio.
I admit that I still have Cheetah Coat. You know that I always will.
I miss you more than a little bit.
Love,
Beth
Observe and report 
Leave a Reply