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I bought this really delectable pair of  black, faux croc skin-lined four inch pointy dress platform shoes yesterday. As I was trying on the pair before the mirror and pacing about the room this morning, my husband, still unaccustomed to every size, shape, style (okay, I submit, it’s a given they can be outrageous and over the top sometimes)  and color of my shoes even after twelve years of being married and (steadies almost seven years before that) expressed tentativeness and asked a volley of questions as though he were badgering a witness in a cross examination

How can you survive the day without those shoes killing you?

Are you sure?

Do they accept returns?

Can you exchange it for another item?

‘Like wear it to the office or a party?

‘I mean really?’

‘ Are you really going to wear that?’


A bit flustered at hearing the same questions over my choice of footwear all these years I shook my head and shot back

‘Nope. I’m gonna have them for breakfast’.

And so I wore the new pair of shoes with my pajamas while we were having breakfast at home and I am still wearing them until this very minute I am writing this post. And even after I will have published this post.

But hubby!  He’s still giving me this kind of look as though I were a postal envelope he’s so ready to stamp ‘RETURN TO SENDER” and ship me back to my parents.

Revenge has never been sweeter!

(But I have Bengay liniment tucked someplace he couldn’t see. Wink!)

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