Monday, March 30, 2009

Retail Therapy Should Be Covered By Insurance Companies And Here’s Why…

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There are a few things you need to know first. I am single. Not single as in, “What lovely invitation shall I choose to accept this weekend?” I’m single as in I don’t date EVER very often. I have been single by choice for a long time. I have been single not by choice, but because the men I meet are reeeeaaally CRAZY for a reeeeaaally long time.

So, after many of my wonderful friends, both male and female, badgered me to near death by suicide, I joined eHarmony. Don’t judge. I’ve actually met some really interesting guys. Some local, some I couldn’t find with a map, longitude and latitude coordinates, and a geography teacher standing over my shoulder. I travel a lot too. Sad. Can you find Victoria, Mahe, Seychelles without help???

Ok. Talk to great guy. Great guy asks me out. Make plans with great guy. Great guy does not confirm plans or cancel or call or e-mail or anything. Seriously, not a word. I roar sadly, loudly and privately because that’s what Leos do. Now, were this an isolated random event I’d have ignored this social misstep as an anomaly of rude behavior and went on my merry way. But no. One joker after another has come crashing into my world like some kamikaze, lunatic, crack-head just released from a psych ward sent with express orders to mess with my world. Why? I wish I knew. I have been cursed with an idiot magnet chip embedded somewhere in my ass and I can’t find the right doctor to remove the damn device. Believe me. I’ve tried.

The Leo roars (sobbing loudly at the injustice of it all…I mean he asked me out not vice versa for goodness sakes!), and then proceeds to lay on the couch by an awesome fire (there are still some good things in the world) and continue reading Murder On A Girls Night Out (see what A Leo Reads) and drink an entire bottle of wine. Alone. The ENTIRE bottle. I licked the inside of the glass…

Fast forward to Saturday morning. Okay, I’m lying. I didn’t even crack an eyelid ‘til noon. Still. Saturday afternoon I drag myself out of bed purely through the power of the sacred mantra: Men Suck. Men suck. Men Suck. Arrgh. Men Suck. I got dressed, went out and proceeded to go buy five pairs of new shoes.

Yes, that may seem like a lot, but I was really bummed. So I get back in the truck and am literally absolutely giddy over my purchases! Seriously! Giddy I say! Here’s the best part. I felt NO (read: ZERO) guilt over spending a bunch of money I really didn’t have to spend. (Who does these days?) I was actually feeling guilt-free and awesome! A couple hours in therapy or one hour in the shoe department. I will be wearing those shoes for a while. Therapy would have just made me sad. In fact I am wearing some super cute sandals I got Saturday right now! I could not have brought a therapist to work. Well maybe. I do actually work with doctors all day. Whatever.

I ask you, what’s better? Being depressed, going postal, and living in a semi-permanent funk or a little retail therapy? I think I should have been able to show my Rx card for a discount. I'd even settle for submitting my receipts to an insurance provider. Mental health is supposed to be really important.

So, as I sit in my truck for a moment basking in all that is the glory of retail therapy and feeling very smart for knowing exactly what I needed…

He called.

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