Worth: the quality that renders something desirable, useful, or valuable; material or market value.
So we agree that worth isn't always measured in money, right? Though it certainly can be - that giant coffee at Starbucks on Saturday afternoon was definitely worth it. In a related story - BC shiraz is surprisingly tasty and affordable. But enough about the positive. For now, let's focus on the negative, shall we?
Things that just aren't worth it, at least to me, these days:
1) Pretty much designer anything, except coffee drinks. I like pretty things as much as the next person, maybe even a little more so. But my ass is easily suggestible - walking past a bakery makes me gain five pounds, so $250 jeans are out. And while my tastes in dream home decor can run to the crazy expensive, I just can't bring myself to actually spend two weeks salary on anything a cat can throw up on. But surely that hanging lamp you've been admiring would be a safe choice, you say? You haven't met Tallulah. Where there's a will, a hairball is sure to follow.
2) Trying to save money by refurbishing an old reliable something instead of just buying a new one. My personal Waterloo was a gym bag. Or, more accurately, about half a dozen old gym bags I decided to spiffy up in favour of buying a new one. Into the washer they went. It was only there, in the clandestine confines of my high efficiency front loader, that they revealed their traitorous natures. Or, more precisely, their hidden cardboard inserts, which turned to pulp, burned out the pump, and clogged the drain line like cement. Cost of new gym bag - $40. Cost of washer repair - $297.
3) A 1 AM pitcher of margaritas, a 2 AM donair, and a 3 AM text to your ex asking if he's still up. Anything that leaves you dehydrated, suffering from heartburn and with a deep sense of shame can't be worth it. And that's just the donair.
4) Saffron. Look, I'm sorry, Giada et al, I know your nipples get hard over the world's most expensive spice, but all I got was a stain on my top that cannot be Shouted out. And it only tastes slightly interesting. Not worth the time it took to track it down. Sure, it's pretty, but so's Ryan Reynolds, and ounce for ounce, I probably could've steeped him and added him to my orzo for roughly the same kind of money. And he would look awesome in my kitchen.
5) Flying more than half way across the country for sex. Sure, you fancy yourself a carnal Amelia Earhart, off on a sex adventure with a jaunt in your step and a carry-on full of unmentionables. Oh, you can try and tell yourself it's more romantic than it is, that it's some sort of long distance relationship. Chances are, it isn't; it's a booty call that requires photo i.d. It might seem worth it at the time, especially if you're in a dry spell and there's a seat sale. But trust me when I tell you this: you may have saved some money, but you'll be paying for it long after you get that Visa bill.
6) Convertible bras. Nearly $50, and I should have known by the name. The tag says they call them that because of all the different ways you can wear them. The tag lies. Convertible means the top goes down. Like down around your waist. Look, as regular readers will know, I love my boobs. There are days when I feel they should get their own reality show. But much like the majestic silverback gorilla, it's safest (if not the most ethically responsible) to enjoy them under controlled conditions, possibly from behind 6-inch thick reinforced plexiglass. Thanks for nothing, La Senza. And sorry, Reverend.
7) Taking a chance on something scary. I know, I know. I've written about the importance of going full Edmund Hillary, planting a flag on the summit of Mount You Only Live Once, grabbing life not so gently by the balls and not living with regret and what-ifs. Guess what? I'm an idiot. We all have our own internal chance-o-meter, a finely calibrated scale that measures risk versus reward. For some, it could be trying sushi for the first time. For others, it might be skydiving. It doesn't really matter what it is, the odds are the same: there's a 50% chance you'll end up loving spicy tuna, and a 50% chance your chute won't open. I should have stuck to the spicy tuna.
8) Chopping things into uniform size when having a dinner party. This seems incredibly random, even for me, and likely has a lot to do with how much Food Network I watched this weekend. Your friends don't care if the apples in your tarte tatin are all the same size. If they do, they're assholes. You're wasting butter pastry on assholes. Think about that. The only thing worth worrying about is running out of wine, not whether your pancetta is evenly diced.
9) Lying to your mother. She knows. Every time. Even on the phone. Especially if it's a lie about flying half way across the country for sex or how much you paid for the recently hairballed decorative pillow.
There are lots of things in life I think are worth it - well-written hardcover books, imported tulips in the middle of winter, giving up a few hours of sleep to have a heart to heart with a friend. But do yourself a favour - just buy the damn gym bag.
So we agree that worth isn't always measured in money, right? Though it certainly can be - that giant coffee at Starbucks on Saturday afternoon was definitely worth it. In a related story - BC shiraz is surprisingly tasty and affordable. But enough about the positive. For now, let's focus on the negative, shall we?
Things that just aren't worth it, at least to me, these days:
1) Pretty much designer anything, except coffee drinks. I like pretty things as much as the next person, maybe even a little more so. But my ass is easily suggestible - walking past a bakery makes me gain five pounds, so $250 jeans are out. And while my tastes in dream home decor can run to the crazy expensive, I just can't bring myself to actually spend two weeks salary on anything a cat can throw up on. But surely that hanging lamp you've been admiring would be a safe choice, you say? You haven't met Tallulah. Where there's a will, a hairball is sure to follow.
2) Trying to save money by refurbishing an old reliable something instead of just buying a new one. My personal Waterloo was a gym bag. Or, more accurately, about half a dozen old gym bags I decided to spiffy up in favour of buying a new one. Into the washer they went. It was only there, in the clandestine confines of my high efficiency front loader, that they revealed their traitorous natures. Or, more precisely, their hidden cardboard inserts, which turned to pulp, burned out the pump, and clogged the drain line like cement. Cost of new gym bag - $40. Cost of washer repair - $297.
3) A 1 AM pitcher of margaritas, a 2 AM donair, and a 3 AM text to your ex asking if he's still up. Anything that leaves you dehydrated, suffering from heartburn and with a deep sense of shame can't be worth it. And that's just the donair.
4) Saffron. Look, I'm sorry, Giada et al, I know your nipples get hard over the world's most expensive spice, but all I got was a stain on my top that cannot be Shouted out. And it only tastes slightly interesting. Not worth the time it took to track it down. Sure, it's pretty, but so's Ryan Reynolds, and ounce for ounce, I probably could've steeped him and added him to my orzo for roughly the same kind of money. And he would look awesome in my kitchen.
5) Flying more than half way across the country for sex. Sure, you fancy yourself a carnal Amelia Earhart, off on a sex adventure with a jaunt in your step and a carry-on full of unmentionables. Oh, you can try and tell yourself it's more romantic than it is, that it's some sort of long distance relationship. Chances are, it isn't; it's a booty call that requires photo i.d. It might seem worth it at the time, especially if you're in a dry spell and there's a seat sale. But trust me when I tell you this: you may have saved some money, but you'll be paying for it long after you get that Visa bill.
6) Convertible bras. Nearly $50, and I should have known by the name. The tag says they call them that because of all the different ways you can wear them. The tag lies. Convertible means the top goes down. Like down around your waist. Look, as regular readers will know, I love my boobs. There are days when I feel they should get their own reality show. But much like the majestic silverback gorilla, it's safest (if not the most ethically responsible) to enjoy them under controlled conditions, possibly from behind 6-inch thick reinforced plexiglass. Thanks for nothing, La Senza. And sorry, Reverend.
7) Taking a chance on something scary. I know, I know. I've written about the importance of going full Edmund Hillary, planting a flag on the summit of Mount You Only Live Once, grabbing life not so gently by the balls and not living with regret and what-ifs. Guess what? I'm an idiot. We all have our own internal chance-o-meter, a finely calibrated scale that measures risk versus reward. For some, it could be trying sushi for the first time. For others, it might be skydiving. It doesn't really matter what it is, the odds are the same: there's a 50% chance you'll end up loving spicy tuna, and a 50% chance your chute won't open. I should have stuck to the spicy tuna.
8) Chopping things into uniform size when having a dinner party. This seems incredibly random, even for me, and likely has a lot to do with how much Food Network I watched this weekend. Your friends don't care if the apples in your tarte tatin are all the same size. If they do, they're assholes. You're wasting butter pastry on assholes. Think about that. The only thing worth worrying about is running out of wine, not whether your pancetta is evenly diced.
9) Lying to your mother. She knows. Every time. Even on the phone. Especially if it's a lie about flying half way across the country for sex or how much you paid for the recently hairballed decorative pillow.
There are lots of things in life I think are worth it - well-written hardcover books, imported tulips in the middle of winter, giving up a few hours of sleep to have a heart to heart with a friend. But do yourself a favour - just buy the damn gym bag.
