I like new jewelry, natch. Especially because I’m not in the mood to be buying new clothes these days since the post-accident weight gain. Jewelry is simple and elegant and always puts a smile on my face (especially the kind that comes in a little Tiffany blue box with a white satin ribbon tied into a bow). And I can gain five pounds and the jewelry still fits. (Rings, on the other hand don’t play nice in the sandbox when I retain water. Phfft!)
But husband doesn’t see the value in jewelry. (sigh)
He feels the same way about my Jimmy Choo shoes, or any shoes for that matter unless it’s a good pair of hiking boots, which he takes great interest in as though he were buying me a space suit that I’d need for, say walking on the moon. He wants to make sure that it’s exactly what I need for every condition I could face hiking. And well, we know what kinds of conditions I end up finding myself in when hiking.
So, while in Roatan, Honduras over the holidays, after a day of diving/snorkeling (Steve dove, but I couldn’t because my ears were plugged up from a cold, so I snorkeled), we were heading back to the cruise ship, passing all the duty-free stores, when I saw the Pandora store.
AND IT WAS ALL DUTY FREE!
So that meant I could go in and buy me a little something, right? AND it would be inexpensive, of course. (Snicker. I knew better than that.)
I left Steve outside with a poorly made Honduran gelato (I know, that doesn’t make sense: Honduran gelato) while I entered the doors of Pandora.
Stupid me. I let the Pandora sales people put the silver chain around my wrist and we began building my bracelet. By the time it was about 1/4 filled I stopped the two Pandora sales people and said what I never say to a sales person, “Uh, how much is this?”
I’m not going to tell you what they told me, but I’ll tell you this much: I had them shave off about $60 worth of charms/beads and ended up walking out of the store with my bracelet.
I thought I was in the clear, figuring that Steve wouldn’t ask me how much I spent, but all of a sudden the receipt fell out of my hands and the breeze carried it off. Gallant Steve chased it down and then I thought, “crap.”
Yep, he looked at the receipt and then looked at me and I had to walk the Walk of Shame back to the cruise ship as he muttered something about not being able to eat for a month.
“But you got an ice cream,” I told him. “It’s kind of even now, right?”