For not even 24 hours, I hummed and hawed over buying a pair of EXPENSIVE boots, the price of which would normally make me scrunch up my face like someone had farted. But in those less than 24 hours, I boasted at the beauty of these boots like I had birthed them myself to any friend and co-worker that would give me a moment of their time. I just NEEEEEEEDED to have them. I also suffer from what I call ‘Man calves-itis’ and these fit without having to find a cobbler that could stretch the boot or buy some reverse vice type implement to stretch them manually. Let’s just say that the only man to ever compliment my calves was a sports medicine doctor, and he wasn’t hitting on me (that would have been gross – I was 16) – it was a professional observation.
Last night before bed, I posted this to Facebook.
I totally and completely underestimated just how supportive my friends really are *eyes well up with tears, and the number of people I would eventually offend. Sorry guys!
Favourites excuses: The breakdown of how much the boots would cost me in duty alone per day and how it could be justified by a (non-existent) Starbucks addiction (that is if I decided to order them as opposed to buying them from the shop where I first fell in love); the ‘apocalypse’; ‘when you’re dead it won’t matter how much you spent on boots’. And it’s true, when I have long left this world, my credit rating won’t matter to me, but maybe to whatever family I have … that being said I don’t know what kind of legal recourse creditors will be able to take against my future fur-babies.
Most co-workers tried to talk me out of buying them but I held strong. It’s imperative to support local independent shoe retailers that sell crazy expensive footwear. Then the fun part came – how could I justify this and what would I call them?
- My ‘I don’t have to pay for daycare’ boots;
- My ‘You spent $1800 on a bike so don’t tell me how to live my life!!!’ boots;
- My ‘spend money for the income bracket I strive to be in.’ boots.
I made it back to the store to make these babies mine and now they have a good home where they will live a nice, long life.
The thing that makes me laugh the most about this is that whenever I see my massage therapist we chat on a variety of topics, but most often about materialism and how it makes you financially and spiritually poor. I totally get that – I’m REALLY picking up what he’s putting down. I know that money doesn’t buy happiness but I am also very happy with my beautiful new boots that were acquired through the giving the store lots of my money. I choose to see no conflict. I won’t tell you how much I paid for them but lets just say to make it sting a little less, I split the purchase up between my debit and credit cards, a practice I’m sure my financial advisor would not sign off on.
Anyway, that’s it for now. I think it’s time I crack open that copy of The Wealthy Barber Returns sitting on my bookshelf. I’m sure to learn something in there. I’m just glad I waited to learn something.
*Audible sigh 
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