What you want to do is throw caution to the wind; what you should do is resist the urge. So I was doing exactly that, but with the surly attitude of a teenager. Here’s the problem: I found a pair of shoes online and I badly, desperately wanted them on my feet. They were neither impractical (versatile, actually) nor expensive (under $60), but this isn’t the time to be buying luxuries. I’m stuck in a repair and replace mode at the moment.
First, it was tires. Then the cellphone. Now the suspension’s gone kablooie on the car. All told, I’m facing a 4-figure deficit, a vast amount of money for someone with my meager resources. Kicky shoes don’t crossover to the necessity column. I tried. Doesn’t work. I pouted and moved on, but never forgot. I wanted the damn shoes.
So I visited them online whenever I had a chance. I’d go through the motions: oohing and aahing, selecting the color and size, but stopped short of ‘add to cart.’ It offered a small measure of joy until I saw the dreaded ‘only 3 pairs in stock.’ At that point, my little visits became fraught with tension and futility. It was hopeless and I knew it; I couldn’t justify new shoes. Not now. And by the time I’m flush again, they’ll be long gone.
Oh, hello, what’s this? A fortune cookie? What does it say?
It says my new, extravagant shoes will be delivered Tuesday. Along with a guilty conscience and a whole bunch of remorse. Let this be a lesson to you and don’t listen to fortune cookies. They will surely lead you astray.
copyright © 2017 the whirly girl