Honesty is Such a Lonely Word (and it's not well dressed, either)

I am not a sneaky person.

My parents might disagree with that statement - and they might have cause to. I didn't say "I have never been a sneaky person" I said "I am not a sneaky person".

Every now and then I give it a shot, though. Sneaky people always seem to be having so much fun. Plus, they get all the cool stuff. I want cool stuff. What's a non-sneaky gal to do?

When Tom and I were getting close to our wedding day, I was given a piece of sage advice for keeping a marriage happy: always hide the receipts. I never followed that advice because I knew I was marrying a man who wouldn't just pay the bills without question.

So I mended my plastic happy ways. For the most part. Because I knew I was accountable. Every now and then I'd have a brief relapse, and he never got angry with me - but he was disappointed. You just groaned, right? Because having someone you love be disappointed in you is WAY worse than having them be angry with you.

But even so, sometimes I would give in to the temptation to buy now, pay later.

I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.

I will gladly pay you next month for a wardrobe today.

I keep one charge card open - a Kohl's card - because - seriously - you get much better deals there when you have a card. And you can pay it off right at the register when you make a purchase - so you just use your card, get your discount, then pay it off with cash. What could possibly go wrong?

Ahem.

So anyway, short story longer than it needs to be, we had a little money and decided to pay off all the credit cards. "Including my Kohl's card?"

"Including your Kohl's card."

"Awesome," thought my trying so hard to be sneaky little mind. He has no idea how much is on that card. I'll go on one last shopping spree right before I pay it off with full permission. (Hi Tom. Love you. Mean it.) So this morning was the day. There were a few little road blocks on the way to Kohl's, but I wasn't gonna let them stop me - I powered through. Today was gonna be my own personal Bonus Buy!

I looked for shoes. I wanted the sort of neutral, casual, comfortable shoe you'd want to slip on every single day. What was I drawn to? Silver with chunky heels and embellishments... I knew I needed something practical, but the heart wants what it wants. And besides - I was already feeling sneaky and a little bit deliciously bad. Into the buggy they went.

Next stop? Clothing, of course. I tried on an armload and everything that would've been a maybe on a normal shopping day became a yes. This is sort of key. I didn't LOVE anything in my buggy. It was more - "I guess I'd wear that" than "I will cease to be able to find the will to breathe without that". You know - good enough.

Then on to jewelry. I found a few chunky pieces that delighted me and into the buggy they went.

On the way to the makeup counter to pick up some eyeliner - which I actually DID need - I encountered a rack with SALE dresses that I hadn't seen before. I picked up two and went into the dressing room, leaving my buggy outside as their signs tell me I must. I had to. It was a SALE. It said so in red and everything.

One of the dresses was fine. The other was pretty nice - summer sexy. I go to many events in the summer that require the sort of sexy chic that can only be acquired by shopping at Kohl's, so it seemed like a reasonable purchase. (I don't know if you can tell, but I wrote that last paragraph in sarcastic font. Blogger doesn't support it and conforms it to their preferred font, but it was intended to be sarcastic. Honest.)

I was still debating adding these two dresses to my pile when I walked out of my dressing room to find my buggy being systematically emptied by a Kohl's employee who didn't realize it belonged to someone. Um, ok, it was parked outside the dressing room and full of a variety of stuff, but, whatever. She was mortified when she saw the look on my face and offered to help me hunt everything down.

I declined.

It wasn't to be.

I put the ok dress and the sexy dress back on the rack, too.

I am not a sneaky person. When I try to be, the universe (or, you know, a Kohl's associate) steps in to keep me in line.

And my bill is paid off, fair and square.

That feels good.

But it doesn't feel as sexy as silver hottie shoes and a low cut black dress.

Sigh.

Shape Up!

Perhaps you've see the commercials for Skechers Shape Ups. If you have been in a shoe store or a department store recently, you have almost surely seen a display. Joe Montana even touted their efficiency in a Super Bowl commercial. But if you're still unfamiliar, they are shoes designed to promote weight loss, tone muscles, and improve posture. As my new PT job requires me to be on my feet for a solid three hours every day, and I needed new shoes anyway, I allowed myself to be pulled in by the promises. I felt a little bit like a sucker as I tried them on and carried them to the counter. I knew in my heart that they weren't going to live up to the hype, but, like I said, I needed new shoes anyway and I figured it was worth a shot. Stereotype alert: Fat chick heading to the counter with the next miracle fix.

But here's the thing: I put those bad boys on and noticed an immediate improvement in my posture. Cool. One promise fulfilled out of three made isn't bad. It's a better promise to fulfillment ratio than I experienced when I was dating. It's a way better promise to fulfillment ratio than I experience from my kids. I considered the purchase to be a success.

A few days later, standing tall and straight, a little girl I know came over to me, excitedly pointing to my new shoes. She was having a pretty darn enthusiastic reaction to them. "New shoes! New shoes!"

"Yes, I got new shoes."

"MY shoes!"

"No, sweetheart, they're not your shoes. They're my shoes." I pointed to further make my point, "My shoes - your", I slowed down here as dawn broke on marble head. This little girl has multiple disabilities, and one of them is that one leg is shorter than the other. My built up shoes looked a whole lot like her built up shoe. She had clearly never seen a shoe like hers on someone else before. It made her happy. It made me ridiculously warm and fuzzy.

Better posture and a warm fuzzy feeling. These kicks are just paying for themselves.

Later in the week I found a new use for them. I was out with my sister having a couple beers. Please don't have a heart attack and die from the shock of that. The shoes became a good indicator of when enough was enough. These shoes require a certain amount of balance to maneuver in, you see. I knew if I could make it to the ladies room and back, I was ok. They were very fun to walk in with a little beer buzz, too. I always appreciate a good challenge. Bonus. Next up in Tammy and Wendy's Drinking for Fitness regimen: Jello shots on a Bosu ball. Maintaining your balance through that feat is sure to strengthen your core while weakening your inhibitions. Win/win.

But there was one more benefit to be derived. This morning when I put on my fresh-from-the -dryer jeans, I did not need to lie on the bed or jump up and down or perform any sort of acrobatics at all to get them zipped. That's right, kids. I appear to have dropped a couple pounds. Nothing significant - nothing you'd notice - I only noticed because of the difference in the fit of my jeans. But still. Something. Sure, sure, it could be because I'm standing three hours every day that I would've otherwise been sitting. Or it COULD be because I'm standing on my new Shoes of Wonder.

That promise to fulfillment ratio just shot to 2:3. With two bonus benefits that HADN'T been promised. Dude. They're not very pretty, but I'm going to wear them EVERY day.

(Oh, and just to be clear - this was a completely uncompensated endorsement. Though if future compensation should come my way, I'd be willing to change that line about them not being very pretty. I'm sure a free pair would be very pretty indeed.)

When Black Friday Comes...

Black Friday. Folks love it and hate it and love to hate it and hate to love it. Folks avoid it like the plague and folks look forward to it all year. Folks have strong feelings about Black Friday.

My mom is among them. You know, the folks. The strong feeling folks. She falls very firmly into the pro camp. Lurves it, she does.

For the last decade or so my parents have been bringing Thanksgiving to me. My sister and I live in the same town, and my parents just find it easier to travel to us than to have us travel to them. We have Thanksgiving dinner at my sister's house, and while the dishes are still being washed, the sale flyers are being perused. For years it was my mom, my sister and I. We'd wake up early and stand in the lines and shop till we dropped and have coffee and breakfast and a couple years we even lasted until lunch.

My mom has made no secret about how much she cherishes this tradition.

Me? I don't usually end up shopping that much that day, but I do enjoy the time with my girl tribe. This year my sister had to work. My mom asked if I'd still go with her. Of course I would. You see, I'm the black sheep of the family. I made all the wrong choices and took all the wrong paths. You might say (if you were my mother) that I'm a giant mass of unfulfilled God-given potential. Now this was a moniker I may have rightfully laid claim to from the late 70's through the late 80's, but since then I've been pretty much an upstanding citizen. It doesn't matter. My role in the family has been cemented. I'm the loser, the nogoodnik, the ne'er do well. As such, I'm a woman pushing fifty who is still desperate to receive her parents' approval. I don't know if that makes me a loser or not, but it certainly makes me pitiful.

Anyway.

So my mom and I look through all of our ads, plotting our course. As we queued up at Target at 3:15 am I knew I was gaining favor. I didn't mind the dark or the cold or the little threats of snow - my mom was enjoying being just with me. As the day progressed, she had great luck shopping while I pushed the buggy and pointed her towards the proper sections of the stores. At one point she said, "I like just shopping with you. You do everything I suggest and you never say no." (for the record, it was similar behavior that caused me to fall out of favor a couple decades ago...)

I puppied out before she did, begging off to go home around 9:30. She took me home then picked my dad up and had him take her to a couple more stops. I was just waking up from my nap when she called to tell me she was done and to ask if I'd mind taking her to Barnes & Noble after dinner. Sure I will. I am, after all, just a girl who can't say no.

It may have been Black Friday, but for just one day, I got to be Golden.

I'll take it.

Speaking of getting things for great prices (or, in this case, for FREE!), utilizing the random number generator, Sherri at Luv a Bargain was the winner of my Stick Mixer giveaway! Congratulations, Sherri! Send me your contact information and we'll get this going!

Let's Hear It For The Girls!

As October is breast cancer awareness month, I felt I would be remiss if I didn't write a little something about the girls. Don't worry - I'm, not going to get sappy on you. You know what to do. Do your self-exams monthly. Have your mammograms annually. Take care of the girls. That's as close as I'm going to get to a PSA, I promise.

I was thinking more about that wonderful invention of Otto Titzling (inventor and kraut as per the Divine Miss M.) - or was it Philippe de Brassiere? Snopes says neither, but it's a fun story, anyway. Stupid Snopes - ruining everything with logic and truth. At any rate. I bought a couple bras today.

Yep. 45 minutes in the dressing room and $70 later, I'm the proud owner of two new bras. Oh, you're welcome, I'm sure. I've sworn to keep you abreast of every little detail of my mundane little life. (See what I did there? Abreast? Oh man - it's gonna be one of those days...) Tom was quite surprised by the price tag. And he didn't even know they were buy one, get one half off. $70 would keep him in undergarments for about - oh, I don't know - a decade? I'll need a couple more in three or four months. I used to be able to go a year, but the older I get and the harder they have to work, the more expensive they become and the less long they last. If I were so inclined I could draw you a graph of the inverse relationship at work here. There might already be one at that graph site Tom likes to go to, but I'm too lazy to look.

Anyway.

Many of you know - and some of you don't - and if you're one of those that don't (yet - muahahahaha), then that phrase "ignorance is bliss" was coined just for you, and you go ahead and enjoy that - don't let me burst your bubble - all about shopping for the girls as you and, consequently, they, get older. It becomes much less fun. I see girls shopping for bras and saying, "Oooooh! That's cute!" I shop for bras and say, "Hmmmm. That appears to be sturdy." Then they buy the bras AND the cute matching undies and STILL spend less than I did. What a drag it is getting old, huh?

The bra shopping expedition came about because of the laundry. I still have a lifting restriction, so my eldest is supposed to do the laundry. The other day at dinner, she exclaimed (and none too quietly, I might add), "Mom! Are you wearing a SPORTS BRA?"

"Yes."

"Nice uni-boob."

"If you don't like it you could, oh, I don't know, maybe DO THE DAMN LAUNDRY?" (I didn't really say that) Yes I did. No I didn't...

So she did the laundry, and two days later I'm down to a drawer full of sports bras and one lace bra. So, yeah, in THIS case, the problem wasn't that she wasn't being prompt with her chores, it was that one by one my strappy little soldiers had lost their battle without being replaced. It was time for new recruits.

So I donned the lace bra under a T-shirt, so you know I looked very classy. Seriously - lace bras - who the HELL came up with that? I mean, sure. They're pretty. I get that. But they don't look good under T-shirts. Or blouses for that matter. Or most dresses. I generally wear them under bulky sweaters or sweatshirts. Which sort of goes against the whole 'wearing them 'cause they're sexy' thing, no? Lace is not exactly the most comfy fabric to wear next to your tender girly bits, either, and I know I'm not the only one who thinks so. Oh, but they sure are pretty! Now I wonder if it was a man or a woman who came up with THAT brilliant idea? Sheesh.

But I've digressed.

Sorry.

I donned the lace bra under the T-shirt - threw on a jacket to cover as much of the dimpling effect as it could - and headed to the dressing room, where this story began. Good thing, too, because the underwire in this lace number is starting to feel a little wonky (as opposed to the usual level of comfort and freedom an underwire provides). I don't think it's long for this world.

Hoist 'em high, ladies.

And, um, gentlemen? I'm truly sorry. I know boobies are, like, totally your favorite and I've made them all mundane and utilitarian. Actually, I didn't even discuss the utilitarian parts - just the mundane parts. Sheesh. Sorry. Would it help if I said "boobies" again? Ok. Boobies.