Just when you think you got out...
They pull you back in again.
I no longer have credit cards. The credit lines are open but the cards have been meticulously cut with my kitchen shears. Slowly, deliberately and painfully I snipped them into hundreds of tiny, unnecessary pieces. Must. Get. Out. Of. Debt.
We've stopped going to the bars, we try to stay in on the weekends prefering to watch stored up episodes of Jeopardy! (you haven't lived until you've watched five episodes in a row. And yes, it goes without saying that I have revealed that I'm an incredible nerd) and movies from Blockbuster.com (the best expense we have in our lives...because we take full advantage of it, we pay about $1 a movie at this point). I do not go to the mall anymore. I live close to this mall, that's right...there are over 365 stores and boutiques! It used to be my life. When I started dating John I would actually stop at KOP (that's what we locals call it), buy an entire new outfit including cute undergarments with no previous history and change in my car before I sped to the city just to take everything off again.
In my more distant past, I owned a retagging gun. I would go to the most expensive stores and buy $300 jeans without a blink of an eye...one pair had gorgeous aquamarine beading at the waist band making a sparkling faux belt. Then I would wash the clothes or dryclean them, retag them and take them back without an ounce of guilt. Poor girls have dreams too. Through the retagging gun, I lived those dreams. Like a junkie, I miss the rush I felt as I swiped my card and went home wth bags full of useless clothing.
Well, it is official. I will have to live in a bunker because designer outlets have come to my small town. That's right kids, within three minutes of my house there is a fix. However, with that being said, I tempted everything and went and checked them out on the opening day...and I came home satiated, I window shopped but purchased nothing...and felt just fine doing so.
I no longer have credit cards. The credit lines are open but the cards have been meticulously cut with my kitchen shears. Slowly, deliberately and painfully I snipped them into hundreds of tiny, unnecessary pieces. Must. Get. Out. Of. Debt.
We've stopped going to the bars, we try to stay in on the weekends prefering to watch stored up episodes of Jeopardy! (you haven't lived until you've watched five episodes in a row. And yes, it goes without saying that I have revealed that I'm an incredible nerd) and movies from Blockbuster.com (the best expense we have in our lives...because we take full advantage of it, we pay about $1 a movie at this point). I do not go to the mall anymore. I live close to this mall, that's right...there are over 365 stores and boutiques! It used to be my life. When I started dating John I would actually stop at KOP (that's what we locals call it), buy an entire new outfit including cute undergarments with no previous history and change in my car before I sped to the city just to take everything off again.
In my more distant past, I owned a retagging gun. I would go to the most expensive stores and buy $300 jeans without a blink of an eye...one pair had gorgeous aquamarine beading at the waist band making a sparkling faux belt. Then I would wash the clothes or dryclean them, retag them and take them back without an ounce of guilt. Poor girls have dreams too. Through the retagging gun, I lived those dreams. Like a junkie, I miss the rush I felt as I swiped my card and went home wth bags full of useless clothing.
Well, it is official. I will have to live in a bunker because designer outlets have come to my small town. That's right kids, within three minutes of my house there is a fix. However, with that being said, I tempted everything and went and checked them out on the opening day...and I came home satiated, I window shopped but purchased nothing...and felt just fine doing so.
Labels: outlets, pleas for money, shopping, the cornfield
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