Fair is fair. If I’m going to tattle about my husband’s Hobo month indiscretions, I probably should be upfront about my own.
Friday, feeling a little spiritually battered, I decided to run a few errands after work…get a few movies from the library, that sort of thing. And as I’m meandering my way homeward, I pass the local consignment shop and I think to myself, “Hey, self, lets go see if they sold any of our clothes. We certainly don’t have to purchase anything.” (What? You don’t refer to yourself using the royal “We?” We see nothing wrong with it, ourselves.) Well, dang nabbit we did have credit, but only $5. Shoot. Everything we wanted was well over that. But we could try it on and not buy anything, right?
Since there was no chance, none, of purchasing anything for real, I amused myself by trying on a couple of dresses that were, in a word, fabulous but supremely unsuited for my life. (This is a common problem for me. Life in our household is such that my clothes are chosen for utility and must be sturdy and stain resistant and appropriate for crawling under beds to corral errant socks. If I acted on my fashion preferences I would be more suitably attired for demanding that the maid take care of that as I headed out the door to drink martinis with William Powell, blowing air kisses all the while.)
I was almost out the door when I saw them. Perfect and never worn. Lovely, lovely shoes with retro heels– perfect for vintage dresses or dancing (because hubby and I do that alllll the time. Snort.) $10. I held out for maybe a tenth of a second. And that’s being generous. I think I actually created a wind as I sprinted to the counter, leaving a big, cartoon puff of dust in my wake.
In my defense:
Note the fabulosity of them…. ignore the debris of daily life with kids in the background. Around here the only maid goes by the name of “Mom” and frankly, she’s not very thorough. Also, we suspect that she drinks.
On the plus side, she has the most lovely shoes.