Okay, so I’ve been a frugal girl. I inherited quite a bit of money when my parents died. My dad sold insurance for a living, so they were extremely well insured. I had access to a lot of money at eighteen.
Did I go crazy?
Did I buy an expensive car?
Did I whisk all my friends away to the Caribbean for a party?
No, I put most all of it back into my trust. Safely invested in things I didn’t really understand, but Mr. D said they were safe and are performing well.
And, because of this frugality, I like to buy things like shoes when they go on sale. Because shoes are to me what toilet paper and beer are to Phillip. It’s important to him to always have a backup twelve-pack in the fridge, and we can never be without six backup rolls of toilet paper, or we’re on—flash the lights—emergency reserve status. I feel that way about shoes. A woman needs backups in her closet. I mean, you never know when you might need a pair of leopard-print stilettos with red suede trim.
Today after work, I ran to a shoe sale at my favorite department store. And did I score! I got three pairs of adorable shoes for what one would’ve cost at full price.
So, you can imagine my surprise when I walk into my condo, excitedly carrying my sale treasures, and Phillip starts giving me crap about shopping, spending money, and buying another pair of shoes he thinks I’ll never wear.
“Phillip, these shoes were a very good deal. I got three pairs for the price of one!”
He’s all snotty when he says, “Well, buying no shoes is cheaper than that. You have shoes in your closet that I’ve never seen you wear. You could shoe a small country. You can’t possibly need another pair of shoes.”
Who peed in his Cheerios?
“Well, Phillip, since I’m paying for the condo that you’re living in and since you aren’t contributing to the mortgage payment or the utilities or the satellite dish, you probably shouldn’t have any say in what I spend. But, since we’re on that subject, let’s see what you’ve spent lately.”
I grab his wallet, which I know is full of perfectly folded receipts.
He gets an irritated look on his face, but I go on, “Let’s see … what do we have here?” I shuffle through receipts. “Beer, lunch, Taco Bell, beer, gas. Oh! What’s this big one?”
“Nothing,” Phillip sasses back.
He tries to grab the receipt from me, but I avoid him and read it. “Wheels for your car? But, Phillip, your car already has wheels. Does she really need another pair?”
He shrugs.
“And wow. Her shoes—I mean, wheels cost fifteen hundred dollars. Fifteen hundred dollars! That’s a lot of money. Oh, wait, what’s this little note here at the bottom?” I read off the receipt. “Call when chip comes in. Who’s Chip, Phillip?”
“It’s not a who …”
“I know it’s not a who. I know exactly what you ordered. You bought the horsepower chip you and Danny had talked about when you thought I wasn’t listening.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “How much was the chip, Phillip?”
“Four grand.”
“Four THOUSAND dollars? You know, I’m having a hard time understanding how you can give me crap for spending one hundred sixty-five dollars on things I don’t need when you’ve just spent over FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS on things your car doesn’t need. Tell me it was at least on sale.”
“They don’t go on sale.”
“Maybe you should’ve waited until they did.”
Phillip’s fuming. It’s kinda funny.
He says, “This is a worthless conversation. I’m not having it.”
“You started it.”
He squints his eyes at me. “Yeah, well then, I guess I’ll end it, too.” He walks out the door to the garage and slams it shut.
I’m still holding his wallet and see his car keys sitting on the counter.
I smile, grab them, walk to the garage door, stick my hand out the door to jingle them at him, and then quickly shut the door.
I know he can’t leave without them. I also know his spare set is at his parents’ house. I run into the bedroom and strip down to my lacy bra and panties.
Yes, I finally got over hating lingerie. Me and Victoria have made up in a big way, and she and her secret are my new best friends. I’ve been spending a lot of time at her house. Shoes aren’t the only things I’ve been spending my hard-earned money on, but Phillip never has a bad word to say when I walk in the house with that hot-pink bag.
In fact, he gets pretty excited about it.
He’s always like, “Oooh, what’s in the bag?”
Not once has he asked me how much I spent.
I wrap his keychain around the side of my skimpy underwear.
I hear him march into the house.
He yells out, “Give me my keys!”
I yell back, “You’ll have to come and get them!”
He storms through the bedroom doorway in an angry haze, sees me lying on the bed, and freezes. Well, his body freezes, but his eyes are running down my lace.
“Damn,” he states with a shake of his head. “You do not play fair.”
“Have I ever?” I ask coyly.
“No,” he says madly. He takes two quick strides to the bed, roughly pulls me off it, and takes his keys back.
I thought he was going to take the keys and leave, but he throws them on the dresser, takes off his shirt, and throws me back on the bed.
And there’s something really kinda exciting about the way he’s sorta manhandling me.
Actually, it’s not kinda exciting. What it is, is freaking hot.
