Busted

Monday night, heading out to dinner. I'm turned around, locking the front door. Me: You've got your wallet, right? Him: Wallet? What do I need my wallet for? You're paying. {shit-eating grin} Me: Bullshit I'm paying. You're paying. I don't have any money. UPS truck stops right in front of our house, the guy gets out, walks up the walkway to us, and says, "Package for Gypsy?" Him: Don't have any money, eh? Me: Um.... well. That was before I didn't have money? Him: Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. {checks out the box} HSN? Me: {blurting} I needed new Birks! Really. My old ones are falling apart. Him: Good, so you can throw the old ones out. Me: Well... They're still wearable? Mostly? Him: You have problems. I'm calling Oprah. Doesn't she do shows on shopaholics? {chuckling} Me: Oh, come on. I only got two pairs. Him: Two pairs!? Me: D'oh! I mean one? One pair. Maybe. Almost. More or less. I'm paying for it now, though. Good christ these motherfuckers hurt. What ever happened to comfort footwear? I know they'll be comfy once I get them broken in, but owie! Shyeah. Imagine me trying to wear heels every day. Not. gonna. happen. I'd love to be able to wear something like this, but there's just no way in hell. I'd fall down. Frequently. And break my ankles. And cause general mayhem. *sigh* At least I know my limits.