By Vicky Oliver
I first realized that I was a frugalista a few years ago when I took a favorite black jacket back to the dry cleaners to complain that the garment had started to “pill.” The finely spun black lace had literally unraveled before my eyes –exposing the frayed white boning underneath.
“This garment is irreplaceable,” I said, knowing that I could never afford another one, and in any case would have no idea where to find a suitable replacement. “Can’t you do something?” I asked, staring into the sympathetic face of my dry cleaner. “Anything?”
“Cleaning it is only going to make it worse,” he muttered.