About once a week, I am less than forth coming with where I go after work, and usually, I downright lie. I always pay cash and I hide any evidence of where I’ve been. I know that if David finds out, I’m in serious trouble.
Hello, my name is Tina, and I am a Frenchy-aholic.
I get a rush of excitement when I walk into Guy’s Frenchy’s. Within the first few minutes I can tell if this is going to be a good Frenchy’s day or a bad one. Today after work, it was not too bad at all. I got a pair of vintage jeans, classic black pants, a really cool shirt and gorgeous Jackie O style yellow tweed Tecco dress. You might say, “Where, pray tell, do you expect to wear a yellow tweed dress?” And I would respond by saying, “Why at a summer wedding or a garden party of course.” And to answer your next question, no, we aren’t invited to any more weddings this summer, and I haven’t been to a garden party in…well, ever. But if I do get an invite, I’m set. Besides, whether or not I ever wear it, is hardly the point.
My Frenchy finds come to only $19. It’s not the money that would upset David. Especially since he’s paid more than that for shipping for one of his many “widgets” or “do-flickies” for his antique cars. It’s both the lack of need and closet space that he’d be less than impressed with.
But really, I could have much worse vices. Can I have a “hell yeah” from my fellow Frenchy addicts? I wish I could come home and say, “David, I so scored at Frenchy’s tonight.” Instead, my bag of treasures is hidden in the trunk of my car and after I pay through the nose in dry-cleaning and wear them, I will lie and say that I’ve had them for months.
But I’m pretty sure he won’t even notice. And my secret life will be safe for yet another week.