Retail therapy

I find retail therapy to be just the quick fix I need sometimes.

Here are my new shoes from last night. Even though I have no where to wear them, they just looked sexy on my foot and plus, they have elastic.

I heard life-flight go over my house last night. I thought my husband had finally shot himself and was wondering what a suitable outfit would be for the funeral. Black, but could I wear my new strappy sandals? Too much?

I was able to slip into most of my client interactions what an idiot my husband is. It wasn't until a nice handsome contractor walked in to get a facial, that I changed my tune. There's something about a guy who works with his hands and his blue eyes weren't too bad either. Hey, I'm at 194.6 and feeling for the first time that my mo-jo is coming back.

I imagined him working on my house. Oh my goodness, there is something about a man working on your house! As I spread the algae mask (it smells like low tide and dead fish or something else not worth mentioning), I imagine him in my house looking over all the repairs he can do for me (free, of course). He grabs me and pulls me to his mouth. It was so passionate and never mind the fact that he has full facial hair (it's neatly trimmed!) that typically leaves me with red face rash. He lifts me like I'm a dried leaf and puts me on my cooking island. He can't wait to delve down into the thing...well, you know, THAT thing. The thing we all love the most and my husband wouldn't do. Did I mention hubby is a two-pump chump? Nooo...back to the fantasy!

Anywho, he said goodbye, tipped me, and when back to his hot wife who was waiting for him.

My next client was this gorgeous 5'10 model. She wasn't wearing makeup and had on a cute little black sundress. She's absolutely stunning and left her modeling career to teach forth graders. Ugh...I want to hate her, but she's nice. As I imagine her life as the perfect wife and mom, I see this skin tag. Now, I usually don't give a shit about a skin tag, but this one was particularly upsetting. It was on her collar bone and stuck way the hell out. In fact, it looked more like some chewed up nipple on her collarbone then a skin tag. Why doesn't she get that thing burned or gnawed off? I could barely concentrate and didn't dare touch it. It sounds terrible, but that is one of the best things about my job, the ability to see that no one, not matter how gorgeous, is perfect. Pretty women can have nasty hammer or fungus toes and all sorts of other issues. I don't care what you say, it makes me feel better.

You know what also makes me feel better? More retail therapy!

Thank you, Sephora sales lady.

Then I get home seeing that my sister has sent me feel-good documentaries and the Jane Austen collection. I don't know why she would feel that Jane Austen's "we are all wealthy, happy, and married" crap is going to make me feel better, but the gesture was nice.

I stop stalker Sue, my neighbor from down the street, while she's getting her mail. The reason I call her "stalker Sue" is because we used to go on walks and she's kind of a latch-on type of person. I couldn't get away. She wanted to be around me all the time. But, I feel so good and retailed out that the icing on the cake would for stalker Sue to see this 19 year old and her middle finger. I proudly pull up her Facebook page and there is a new photo next to her middle finger photo. In fact, it looks a lot like a sappy Hallmark card. It says, "Ever since I met you nobody else is worth thinking about (insert heart shape)".

This cannot be the man that I married.