A lifetime ago, I was quite the shopper.  Now I avoid buying stuff for myself, as I hate the way I look in clothes.  I have put off shopping “until I lose some weight” for about a decade — except for special occasions and events.  It takes a lot of time to find something that doesn’t want me to weep, and frankly I just don’t want to devote days on end to the torture.  Every time I do I remind myself I should be on the treadmill, not the mall escalator (which, you may recall, I deeply fear, so yeah to THAT double torture).

But we are going on a super romantic, bucket list trip to Paris in April, and I need to get started.  So I am focusing on things that won’t matter if I don’t shed the recommended 50 pounds by April.  Got a chic raincoat (thanks, mom, for helping me there!), and a highly rated umbrella (not sexy, but necessary).  Last week I turned to a combo of fashion and function: shoes!

I have crappy feet, but ADORE heels. I have had my big toe joints surgically rebuilt on both feet, and my doctor frowns on my unhealthy attraction to pointy toed 4 inch stilettos.  Sadly, with the surgeries and weight gain, my feet aren’t real happy with me either.  But I refuse to wear orthopedic shoes on the Champs Elysees.

So I hit the internet, searching for suggestions on shoes that will let me comfortably walk the hills of Sacre Coeur without people thinking I’m an escaped nun.  Found tons of suggestions, and hit Zappos.  I am a proficient internet shopper, and have no problem massively over-ordering then returning.  I know that 85% of the shoes I chose will hurt my feet.  So I bought A LOT.

I also am home during the day when my husband is not and I tend to track packages.  I am not exactly hiding the purchases from him because, as I said, it’s almost all going back.  So don’t think I’m an evil-sneaky devil woman, or that he is some purse-strings controlling neanderthal. But he finds my methods madness, and it’s best to shield him from some things, like the cost of my hair color or his children’s dating questions.

Back to the shoes.

My boxes were supposed to arrive today.  They did.  But not at our current home; instead, they arrived at our old address.  How do I know this? Because one of my husband’s co-workers bought our old house, and sent him an email, including this note: “One of the boxes is pretty large so didn’t want (Donni) to worry they were lost.”

I think I will be in trouble. Not just, “it’s more than one box,” or “the box was big.”  No: ONE of the boxes was pretty large.” So no hiding that — the guy is gonna bring them TO THE OFFICE tomorrow.  HWSNBN is going to have them at his desk all freaking day.  He is going to be tripping over them, explaining to co-workers that his wife has a shopping problem.

I am screwed.