I broke a promise to my husband the other day. That's bad. That's huge. I don't break promises (except for the times I was drugged out, lazy, and irresponsible). I just try not to make them if I'm not sure I can keep them.

But, really, this promise wasn't that huge.

It's dangerous for me to be working in a mall. I was never all that into shopping, but I can really enjoy it sometimes. Since starting my job, I had purchased a bunch of things. They were all on sale, and mostly things I needed to wear to work now that I work in an office. But, I have other responsibilities, and can't spend that much of my earnings. So, I promised I wouldn't shop until April.

But, I had been looking for a suitable fanny pack for a long time. So I could copy Nancy and Alistair. So I didn't have to lug around a purse all the time. And, I needed a power bar now that I have more toys to incorporate into the set-up. And, I may not have needed those shoes, but they were $11. I did need sandlefoot pantyhose to wear with them. (Another perk of the office job: having to wear sausage-tubes. I feel like Claire Fisher). And, and. Well. I didn't really spend that much. He doesn't even seem upset.

I do. But I hate breaking my word.

Two years ago, a customer was having a bad day, and so, decided to ruin mine. I miss that job, despite times like that.