June 1995 – Sincerely Sire Newsletter
My wife, Rosemarie (Roe), was a bit peeved at last month’s “lettuce article” about her. She said I’m always picking on her, so I won’t write anything else about her—except for just this one last thing . . .
As we’re all aware, Roe loves to shop.
It doesn’t matter what for, she just loves to get dressed up and
shop. She prefers to go with a friend,
or her daughters, but if no one’s available she just takes off on her own. Sometimes, when I’m lucky, she doesn’t buy
anything. Other times she buys and it
costs me dearly. And still other times
she doesn’t buy anything but it costs me dearly anyway. Such was the case yesterday.
After an afternoon of shopping, Roe came storming in the front door
muttering incoherently to herself with her face all flushed and contorted.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Agh nuh, vase, cost me rah dah blah blah kick, refused, blah rah, fault
anyway, police!”
“Slow down,” I said. “What
happened?”
“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath and tossing her purse on the
kitchen table. “I was shopping for a
plate (like I said, she’ll shop for anything), and I was in this little shop
looking up at these plates hanging on the wall, and just as I was coming around
a corner this vase jumped out in front of me and I kicked it over.”
“Jumped out in front of you?”
“Well practically. It must
have. I didn’t see it. Anyway it shattered all over the place and
the owner of the shop wanted two hundred bucks for it. He said he’d call the police if I didn’t pay
him. I told him to go ahead and call the
police. I told him me kicking over his
vases was a cost of him doing business but he didn’t agree.” She stopped and took another deep
breath.
“Then what happened dear?”
“Well,” she said, with just a fleeting moment of pride, “I negotiated
him down to one hundred dollars.”
“You mean you didn’t even buy anything and it cost us a hundred bucks.”
“Yep, that’s about it,” she replied sharply as she bolted up the
stairs.”
Well, I figured that was the end of that. There was nothing I could do about it. That money was gone forever. I was just thankful she hadn’t kicked over a
Picasso vase or something.
But Roe had other ideas. A few
hours later she came in through the front door again. Her sweater sleeves were wet and she was
perspiring heavily.
“What’s going on now?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, grinning triumphantly from ear to ear, “I just washed
and waxed my car.”
“Yeah, so?” I said.
“Well,” she said, “I was going
to have it detailed, but since I washed it myself I saved a hundred dollars to
make up for that vase I kicked over.”
I spent a minute or two scratching my head, pondering her logic, and
remembering all the times she had washed and waxed her cars over the last
twenty years. Man, that’s a lot of
shattered vases or something. Shop
owners must throw the lock and chain on the door when they see her coming. I guess you could say Roe really does gets a kick out of shopping.
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