I was fortunate enough to be raised in a home where being thrifty was second nature, thanks entirely to the creative talents of my mom. Although we had enough money to buy things new, Mom thrived on finding deals at flea markets, garage sales and church bazaars. My mom was so skilled at repurposing someone else's old items as cool new treasures, she turned it into a business.

But somewhere along the line my own love of finding something that was a great deal became, well, an obsession. Thanks to Craigslist, Value Village and generous back alleys on garbage day, my home overflowed with neat knick-knacks and not-quite complimentary clothing that served only to fill space in our small house. I had clearly lost the true meaning of being thrifty.

I have to admit: when I picked up Slow Death By Rubber Duck, the new offering by Canadian environmental activists, Rick Smith and Bruce Lourie, I was at once hopeful and sceptical that this book would stand out from the growing list of titles issuing dire warnings about the state of our health and planet Earth.

I love a good industry-bashing as much as the next person, but something I can't abide is holier-than-thou, statistically-saturated, fear-mongering warnings about the end of the world from earnest environmentalists. So, in cracking the spine to inhale that fresh-off-the-presses ink smell (should I worry about phthalates, lead or bromine?) I knew I was going to be a tough audience.