I'm writing this from lovely Los Angeles (where I've already been browsing things I cannot possibly afford. More on that later.)
Today I'm officially introducing you to my shopping nemesis/husband. I call him CheapyMcMiserberg. Cheapy recently read my blog and busted me on a shoe purchase. (I felt like a teenager whose parents just discovered her MySpace page.) Cheapy doesn't care about shoes. Or bags. Or dresses. He doesn't understand why "The one thing that separates us from the animals is the ability to accessorize" is the best movie line ever uttered. He thinks about things like the future and our son's college fund and has my secretary seen me in these pants yet this week. Everything in his closet is khaki or beige or blue or army green. There are few patterns, few colors. Hi favorite thing to wear is his pair of camo print cargo short that are two sizes too big for him. He buys one pair of shoes every two years. That's just sad. I wish he could understand what a great day it is when three or more women covet your boots. I wish he could realize that when one buys something on sale, one saves money. He rarely enjoys the thrill of finding a cute out-of-season item on uber-clearance. He furrows his brow and wags his finger at me the day my AmEx bill arrives. And his wish is that I dress like more like tacky slutty chick who might start dancing on a pole at any moment.