the tale of the hooker bra – post earthquake

Before I came to San Diego, I went to a women’s fashion store to buy some fashions and they were having their usual, “Buy 1 bra, get 2nd 1/2 off” sale. Of course I took the bait but they didn’t have my size in a color I wanted, so the gal ringing me up asked if I wanted to have it sent to my house, free shipping. Sure! So she asks me what color I want and I said, “Pink.” I knew that I might not get the bra till I returned to Washington and that was okay – there was no boob emergency going on. Cut to Friday when I was finally doing the budget for the last two weeks and I see on my AMEX statement a charge for $27.00 and change. I wasn’t supposed to be charged for shipping, but whatever, frankly I’m too busy to be worrying about it.

Then last week I got a coupon via email for this same women’s fashion boutique (I’m going to call it a boutique because it makes me feel fancy) and I needed a new swim suit, so I bought one online, along with a few tee shirts. My total bill was 40% off so I was pretty excited. I signed up for 2 day shipping and today in the mail I found a postcard from the post office telling me to come pick up my package – that I owed $4.60 for shipping charges. Huh, okay, well, that was super fast, considering I only put my order in on Friday and then only yesterday I got an email from the women’s fashion boutique telling me that they were processing my order.  I was kind of peeved that I had to go pay more shipping, but whatever.  I’m trying to keep a “roll with it attitude” because given my personality, the fact that I am not home and not in my comfort zone, I have the potential to completely lose my shit over the smallest, stupidest stuff.

When Husband got home I told him I had to go pick up my package and he was like, “That was fast,” and I was like, “I know, right?”  He offers to go with me and so okay, off we go.  We get to the post office after a few missteps (nothing big mind you) and I go in to get my new clothes and the postal worker comes back with this smallish box.  I’m thinking, my clothes wouldn’t all fit in there, would they?  And as she’s ringing me up for the additional posting, Husband says, “Huh, that’s weird – they had to forward it from our post office box at home – that’s why you have to pay more,” and mentally my head is hitting the counter top as I realize – all this trouble for my stupid bra.

But wait – we’re driving home and I open up the box and inside is this fuscia pink hooker bra.  Look, I don’t judge other women’s underwear choices.  But for me?  I wear black, white, and light pink.  Once in a while if choices are limited I’ll get the “Nude” shade.  But that’s it.  I don’t wear hot pink or red or bright purple underwear.  It’s not because I’m better than anyone else – it’s because it’s my preference.  But when I saw that bra and all the trouble I went to for this stupid thing, all I could say as I pulled it out of the box was, “Look at my new hooker bra.”

Oh yeah – and by the time they charged me for shipping and then I had to pay the $4.60 for forwarding the stupid thing to me in San Diego, I paid more than full price for my half price bra.  My half price hooker bra.  What a deal.

Oh yeah – there was also an earthquake today.  Yes, I felt it (though I’m sure not as fiercely as the Los Angelinos did) and yes, I did have a minor panic attack.  Ack!  Earthquakes!  Crap.