COLUMN: Dollars and sense

From Jorie Green's, "Sauce on the Side," Fall '91 From Jorie Green's, "Sauce on the Side," Fall '91Conclusive proof that youFrom Jorie Green's, "Sauce on the Side," Fall '91Conclusive proof that youget what you pay for. From Jorie Green's, "Sauce on the Side," Fall '91Conclusive proof that youget what you pay for. Bargain-hunting has always been in my blood, passed on from both sides of my genetic pool. In retrospect, I think it was the only thing my parents had in common: at their wedding, the tag on my mother's gown was a slender, warning: this garment may be defective (size 5/6), and at their divorce, my father looked dashing in his Harmani suit, bought direct from an unmarked van near the Italian Market. At one point I did go through a period of retail-rebellion. But even then, I went for the slightly irregular Gap jeans on the clearance rack, insisting to my friends that they fit me better than Calvins ever could. "One of my hips is wider than the other," I explained. "And no, I don't mind that the pockets are sewn on backwards. They kind of match the upside-down pockets in my winter jacket." Eventually, though, I reached maturity and saw the light, returning to my taste for Fumas and Veeboks, Crust toothpaste and Dive soap. And although some might find my purchasing habits cheap or even neurotic, I will maintain that the only thing you're paying for in brand-name merchandise is the brand name. And quality. And durability. So what if the lenses of my wholesale-house sunglasses fall to pieces every time I bat my eyelashes? Shattering dry goods are just another excuse to go back to the mall, and you know how I love shopping.? In fact, after nearly 22 years of bargain-hunting (including infanthood, of course, because I had to be pampered in the No-Frills brand of "nappies," which are not equipped with that special leak-proof layer that keeps Pampers babies so dry), I have learned that there are only two products for which it is necessary to buy the real thing: diapers and exercise videos. This week, I will be doing something very uncharacteristic of a Green: I will be taking off (via ValuJet, of course) on a luxurious spring break vacation to a motel room in Florida. And as I was doing my packing, I realized that while I might have all of the summer clothing I need for 75 degree weather, I am not going fit into those slightly irregular Daisy Dukes the same way I did when the climate was more conducive to hurdle-jumping, and fat-free frozen yogurt was the primary staple of my diet. So I did what I suppose more experienced spring break vacationers do every early March: I headed down to Sam Goody, in search of a videotape of one of those limber, spandex-clad fitness guru-types who could show me how to lunge, pump and sweat my winter flab away. But unlike Penn's Daytona regulars, I skipped right past the $29.99-and-up Cindy Crawford and Claudia Schiffer video tapes, and settled for less -- because as any Green will tell you, less is always, always more. For only nine bucks, I got the Cosmopolitan workout. I was so proud of myself that I could barely tell the cashier, "Yes, I want the receipt." I was convinced that I had out-hunted any of my discount-seeking predecessors, including Early Bird Special Grandma and that most formidable trio, the Coupon Cousins, three scissors-happy real estate agents from my mother's side twice removed. I was sure that I had even surpassed the Deal of '93, a pair of Nine West slip-ons that my stepmother purchased for what she called the "unbelievably cheap" price of $15. Hah! Fifteen dollars for shoes? Well, I'd paid only $9 for a whole new me! After all, I had the Cosmopolitan workout in my hands. This is the magazine that offers tome-long features on "How To Get Your Man to Remember Your Name in the Morning" and "50 Ways Liposuction Can Make You More Popular." If anyone could guide me to an unhealthy and immediate body makeover, they could, right? To my utter chagrin, I was wrong. The exercise leader was so out of breath after the warm-up session that she could barely get out the words, "Oooh! Isn't this easy?" Not only that, but the video had been co-sponsored by Finesse, which meant that every few minutes one of the shiny-maned aerobic dancers would bounce up to the front of the camera and say, "Want your hair to look as good as your body? Take Finesse with you in the shower!" I don't think I toned a single muscle during the entire workout, since I spent the whole time curled up on my couch, eating popcorn and enjoying the show. So it looks like instead of saving $20, I sullied the family name and wasted $9. There is still hope that I may be able to end my quick-flab-loss crisis, though. I could go buy a Thighmaster and take it with me on the plane. The flight is almost five hours, with a stopover in Atlanta. That should be plenty of time for me to get in shape. And so what if after all of that rigorous leg-flexing, I won't be able to walk when we land in the Sunshine State? I opted for Florida because I wanted to spend eight days on a beach, lying perfectly still. Still, I hear Thighmasters can be awfully expensive these days. Anyone know if Wal-Mart carries a cheaper line, like the Shinmaster?