Sunday, November 17, 2013

Waiting for the moment to get scolded

So, between Frenchy and I, we have been attempting to spend wisely.
This has meant creating 'pocket money' type accounts for our own whatever spending.
The money allocated to our separate 'pocket money' accounts go in on the 1st of each month.
And just like the days of getting a university per diem, I blow it all before the week is out.
..and then I start looking at the calendar and sulking about how far far away the 1st of the upcoming month is.
Then after sulking, I swipe the credit card disquietly, hoping he doesn't bother about looking at the bank statement this week, or ever. Yeah right.

So in the above context, I got a little too disoriented recently (okay, feck it - too frequently in recent weeks)- and in my moments of disorientation, I was swiping the credit card at one venue, then another, and another - hopped in a taxi, went through Maccas and then woke up the next morning with a bunch of receipts in my handbag - and a Big Mac on my pillow.
I am mentioning this not to brag about how fucken useless I am about saving, or about how I can't handle too many vinos in the Tron, or my lack of care when I'm disoriented, but more so say; 

- I was so so freaking out about Frenchy finding out - so much so, that I was looking for the paper statements like a mo'fo when the mail comes in....hoping to intercept it.

Just my luck....he collects the mail this evening and Mary Jesus and Judas,  the frakken bank statement arrives, with my lengthy list of purchases and the hours those err, cordials where transacted.

The saddest thing about it?

I don't recall a flippin' thing. 
Not dinner, drinks nor Maccas drive through.
But my god, it's left a trial.

What a ooferkoms start to the week.
Hope you have a better one! more beerzie for me.
Broke ass Goddess til' 1st December.

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