Fabulous Weekend
I’ve been looking for a purse and a new pair of work shoes for weeks. Friday night I went to the Foley’s very special “Once in a Lifetime Sale” (you know – the one they have every month) and found a very cute red Amanda Smith bag for $17. Fifteen dollars with my coupon! Then we (me and my cousin Randy, I mean) went to see Mean Girls, which made me laugh out loud every five minutes and totally forget my break-up angst for two hours. I still didn’t have new shoes, because the only decent pair at Foley’s was $90 and I just can’t cough up that much for shoes right now.
The next morning I woke up a little late and hurried to get ready for breakfast with some friends. As I dressed and transferred purse contents, I promised myself that I’d spend my whole afternoon at DSW Shoe Warehouse and then at Eckerd’s buying colored eyeliners.
For some reason, every time a relationship or unrequited love ends, I feel the need to buy slutty blue eyeliner. I don’t know why. If you wear blue eyeliner, I’m sorry. I’m not saying you’re a slut. But for me, a brown-haired, brown-eyed Latina, blue eyeliner on Latinas is only for when you’re looking to walk the streets. (Or for when you’re going to dive into a swimming pool in a Bryan Adams video.) What always happens is that I go to buy the eyeliner, but then I can’t find the right one. They’ll have thin navy pencils and too-bright teal pencils and a million big icy blue pencils that make your eyes look like you rubbed them with the chalk at the pool hall. But they won’t have that one medium-thick, medium-blue, tiny-bit-of-shiny one that says, “Hello. My ex-boyfriend was too stupid to save our relationship. But that’s his loss and everyone else’s gain. I hate him now and if I see him, I will punch him in the face. But I’ll do it wearing sexy shoes. Hey, sailor – buy me a drink.”
So I was planning to spend a while at Eckerd’s and at Walgreens, too, if necessary. Maybe this break-up would be the one – the one with the perfect blue eyeliner. Either way, a decadent shopping spree was my prescribed remedy.
However.
I flipped my head up from under the blow dryer and saw the kitten. And then I felt guilty.
PEOPLE WHO ARE FANATICAL ANIMAL LOVERS, DON’T READ THIS PARAGRAPH:
A couple of weeks ago I got two kittens from some people who were extremely ill-equipped to care for them. It was a mission of mercy, even though I barely have the time, money, or permission on my lease to care for kittens, myself. The kittens, who had been eating dead birds once a week or so, became pretty ill. The smaller one has already died under circumstances too horrible to type. The other… I was planning to drop him off at the SPCA this very weekend. There, he’d get the treatment he needed and still have a better life than the one to which he was born. But no… I felt guilty, looking at his meowing face and his wormy, constipated little body. I got online and found a nearby vet open on Saturdays. I made the appointment. Then I went into my Excel budget spreadsheet and moved the necessary sum from “Post Break-Up Makeover Money” to “Doctor Money”. I admit it – sometimes I’m a horrible, irresponsible person. (But it usually doesn’t last for long.)
Breakfast was awesome. My friends are the best conversationalists – so smart and funny. (Yvonne, you need a web site.) And they talk about sex with wild, clever abandon. So we had chatty, chatty, laughy, sexy fun.
Then I peeled the hell out to my apartment, grabbed the kitten, and fled to the vet’s office to the strains of Dukes of Hazzard theme music, arriving only ten minutes late. And the very nice doctor totally fixed the kitten. And the very nice office manager and her staff gave me a huge free jug of kitten food and chatted with me for a while. They said my kitten was inordinately strong for his age. And then one of the staff recognized me from a reading I hosted last year. And that was awesomely flattering. They asked me to come by again when I had fliers for the next show, and to let them know when my book was out.
On the way home, I gave the kitten a little pep talk about overcoming difficulties and bad situations in life. At home, we played with a piece of string. Then I called my cousin Randy (Randy, you need a web site) and we went to shop. And God rewarded me for my responsible kitten-rearing by giving me the perfect pair of retro and dominatrixy yet still comfortable and office-appropriate shoes for TEN DOLLARS at Target. I thought they were $17 (gotta love plastic shoes) but, no, at the register I paid $16 total for the shoes, the blue eyeliner, and a lipgloss, too. Everything was on sale. All for me. Thank you, Karma and Heavenly Parent.
So now Randy and I are getting ready to go to Austin to see some sights and then pick up my kids. Everything is good and I’m glad because, dammit, I freaking deserve it.
