When I was in my early teens, my parents started giving me a clothing allowance. Each month I was given $40 to spend on whatever articles of clothing I saw fit. It didn't take me long to realize that forty bucks didn't stretch too far at most stores. So I started shopping at thrift stores.

I remember walking into Value Village for the first time and being bombarded by the musty smell of used clothes. I have always wondered about that smell. Clothes don't reek when they're in someone's own closet, but as soon as they get donated and are hung up on a rack in a thrift store, they stink the place up with that old, stanky stench. Owell, I have come to associate that smell with finding delightful treasures.

I have always been one to enjoy the thrill of the hunt when it comes to clothes shopping. When I go into any store, I immediately make a break for the sale rack, and see what goods are lurking there. I think that's why I get along so well with thrift stores. I could spend hours searching for that perfect hidden gem.

Today I am wearing a black velvet skirt I got from the Summerland Thrift store for two dollars. I can tell it is hand-sewn. I wonder who sewed it. Was it a high school home ec. project from the early 90's? Or was it lovingly crafted by a mother for her teenage daughter for a special occasion? I love to think of the stories that my thrift store clothes could tell.