Hypocrisy (not hypocracy, I looked it up)

I’m a freak about money. A total freak. It’s not that I know anything about financing or saving or anything having to do with managing one’s assets, I just know that spending money means less money for me. So I’m a freak. I obesses over every single purchase I make and I never, NEVER, buy anything without asking at least 10 people if I think I should, then waiting a few days to make sure I really want it. I don’t even go to Target anymore, because their strategically placed materials tempt me to buy things I don’t need like tiny packages of Wet Ones (I should get some, germs are bad) and light-up key chains (how convenient if you have to find your keys in the dark) and all of the cheap shoes (who cares if they’re horribly uncomfortable and fall apart in 17 days). I’m constantly checking our online bank account, then calling Trent to discuss his online purchases, scolding him for his lack of thought when splurging on a computer what’s-it. I once pined over the purchase of a bottle of perfume for days, long enough that my travel buddy finally had to pull me aside and tell me that I MUST PURCHASE THE PERFUME as I’d been obessing about it so long and it was driving her crazy. Celebrate Megan-dom, she said.

Yesterday I celebrated Megan-dom. In the worst way. T-shirts are good. Online temptation is bad.