Retail Therapy

Last Friday, my husband and I anticipated that he would be receiving an offer from a company that has been courting him for the past nine weeks. Yes, you read that correctly.

NINE, LONG, BUREAUCRATIC BULLSHITIFIED, WEEKS.

And it's not like Dallas is playing hard to get. This job looks like a good fit for our family but it does come with a few drawbacks because like the idea of soul mates, the notion of the "perfect" job is delusional. This one comes pretty close though. It boasts a good income, good benefits, a clearly defined career path and it's in an industry where integrity and hard work still mean something. On the down side, the position is located in another state and the hiring process is about as efficient as BP sealing an oil well.

Friday, I lost my mind after finding out that the latest meeting was just another friendly chat that did absolutely nothing to further the process. I was so angry that we would soon have to dip into our savings just to pay bills. When were we going to catch a break? To me, it seemed that we get two big leaps ahead only to fall three steps behind. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.

So I went shopping.

Along with a boatload of desperately needed new clothes, since those hanging in my closet dated back to the Reagan era, I casually dropped into the Apple store.


Isn't it gorgeous?

I love it.

Steve Jobs is my hero.

Now some HUSBANDS might comment that a handful of dark chocolate would likely have soothed the beast and that I didn't just browse the Apple store, I AMBUSHED it but, on Sunday morning, when I handed my hubby a fresh cup of java and our shiny new iPad with the New Zealand Herald in all it's high definition glory glowing on its face, I could have sworn I heard him say,

"Oh yeah. Come to Papa."