I’m addicted.

Not to drugs, alcohol or “The Queen’s Gambit.”

I’m addicted to sales.

Big sales.

Ten-percent-off sales are ordinary.

Ninety-percent-off sales are for bottom-of-the-barrel shirts and pants that remain unclaimed through back-to-school sales, winter sales, spring sales and summer sales. These are the true rejects of the fashion world, so getting something from that pile is way too easy.

What gets my brain doing cartwheels is a solid 75 percent off the sticker price.

We sales addicts don’t want to cheat anyone – we want a great deal we can brag about for decades.

A few years ago, I was in an antique mall in Baton Rouge, La. with my mom. I was looking for some vintage china cups and saucers to replace some I’d given away.

Mom and I were enjoying browsing the shelves, remembering when we’d used those items in our every-day life.

I spotted three black cup-and-saucer sets on a dusty shelf in the back of the store. The design on each was similar, and the black color was intriguing. Most china cups and saucers are white with flowers. These, I knew, were different.

The price was on the bottom of one of the saucers — $6. I looked at the other two – same price. Normally these kinds of cups and saucers go for $20, so I knew I’d found a great deal. I told Mom we’d hit gold, and it was time to go.

We gathered the sets and carefully took them to the front counter. The lady who owned the shop smiled as she rang up my bargains.

“The man who owns that booth generally knows his antiques,” she said. “But he doesn’t know how to price china cups. You got yourself one heck of a deal today.”

I felt like a college football player who just made an interception and ran the ball 50 yards for a touchdown.

My Aunt Bev taught me the value of a good sale. One year, my sisters and I went with her to an estate sale, and she told us to look around, make a note of anything we liked, and then get a bidding card.

I spotted a battered tin tray holding four lead crystal wine glasses and six yellow etched champagne glasses. I wrote down the lot number.

Next, a small wicker basket caught my eye. Inside were linen handkerchiefs, some with delicately embroidered edges.

There were also about 50 antique postcards. Some had personal notes and some were brand new. And, again as instructed, I made note of the lot number.

The auction flew by, and at the end, Aunt Bev wondered who’d gotten those glasses.

“I did,” I proudly told her.

“How much?” she asked.

“Five bucks,” I replied. Then I told her I got the wicker box for the same price, and she told me I’d done quite well.

We put the glasses on a bar shelf after checking they were worth over $50. The wicker basket ended up on a shelf in my closet, and I forgot about it for almost 30 years.

A couple of months ago, I got the box out and started looking at the postcards, wondering if they were valuable. I opened up eBay, and the first postcard I found was worth $2.60. The second was worth $10. The third was 50 cents. All total, there was almost $100 worth of antique postcards.

The same held true for the handkerchiefs. One antique hankie was worth almost $12, and there were about a dozen in the box. That’s not a lot of money, but the amount of money isn’t the point.

It’s the thrill of the hunt.

It’s the powerful adrenaline rush a die-hard shopper feels when he or she finds a genuine bargain others have walked past.

So call me an addict. I’ll wear the label proudly over the name-brand jacket I found for half price at a resale shop.

Did I hear someone say estate sale?

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.