Heading toward the door, my kids stop whatever they’re doing and stare at my coat. They ask me about it; I tell them it’s the latest drop-off from Fran
O
nce a year, my mother drops off a bag of clothes. These clothes are from Fran, the wealthy neighbor from my youth.
Our family does not need tzedakah. Baruch Hashem, we are infinitely blessed. Both my husband and I are well educated and work at high-paying jobs. But let’s face it — after paying the mortgage, taxes, tuition, and the camp bills, there’s not much left. Couple that with a few daughters, one in shidduchim, and I don’t get to spend much on my wardrobe.
But even frugal shoppers need new clothes and shoes every so often. Sale days, coupons at Macy’s and Target, and the occasional trip to the thrift shop work just fine. No high-end shopping for me. I don’t pay much attention to the latest brands or fads.
But I do know a Burberry from a blueberry. I’m not totally oblivious when it comes to fine clothing. So the arrival of this bag, filled with clothes I cannot afford, is always one of the highlights of my year.
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