I don’t often treat myself. As a child of immigrants who lived through a war, frugality is in my bones. My partner and son laugh at me when I dip a knife into a squeezable mustard bottle to scrape the last wee bits from the bottom.
My dear friend Maureen understands this. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer near the start of the pandemic, not only did she coordinate an “army” of friends to chip in for meal deliveries and moral support, she also insisted I treat myself to something beautiful.
“You, me and the Fluevog sale tomorrow,” she said.
Maureen lives in Toronto, and I live outside of Ottawa. As much as I initially thought this was a little ridiculous, we got on the phone and looked over styles together online. She’d already bought a pair of Cavalieri, and when I mentioned I liked those too, she got excited about us having matching shoes.
“But I don’t really need them. I’m not at work now anyway.” I said.
“I’m paying for half.”
Although I didn’t have anywhere to go, walking around the house in such pretty and comfortable shoes (in the other shade of blue) was a joy in a dark time.
Later, after a longer than normal wait for surgery to remove the cancer, and a difficult recovery, a pair of Monikas appeared at my door, the ones with the angels wrapped around the heel. Maureen wanted to remind me that I always have “Ann’s Army” supporting me. She also thought this would be a practical heel for trips back and forth to the hospital; on this we will have to agree to disagree!
I will never stop being a frugal lady. But when I do treat myself to some material good, it will be something of beauty and built to last. And when I look down at my well-shod feet, I remember that I’m worthy of a little decadence in this life, and most importantly, I feel the love from my very wonderful friend.
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