So I didn't get to write the blog entry that I wanted to last night (or this morning for you day type people). I decided that I was going to start picking up my food myself, instead of paying for the delivery charge, and would have to get up really early. So I just hit the sack when I rolled in at 6 am this morning.
Yes, I get the Yuppie version of Meals on Wheels. When I took my youngest niece to see "Win a Date with Tad Hamilton", she yelled out loud, "Aunt Kelly! His refridgerator looks like yours!" when they showed all of the little pre-packaged meals in his fridge.
I get three meals a day, seven days a week. They are considered "gourmet", and are very, very good. Always prepared fresh, you get a delivery (or pick up in my case now) twice a week.
So I get 1200 calories a day of glorious gourmet food that I do not have to cook. Things like chicken with pineapple sauce. Turkey Meatballs. Poppyseed bread & cream cheese. Gazpacho carrots with spinach dip.
It costs a freaking fortune, but with the hours that I work, it is well worth not having to worry about food, if it's good for me, and counting those pesky calories to watch my girlish figure.
I really do cook for myself if I'm working 8 hours a day. Really. I do.
The poor nephew has to fend for himself, but hell, when I was his age I was paying rent and utilities and cooking for myself. I'm convinced it's good for him.
This would have to be my biggest splurge on myself, if you don't count facials. At times I almost feel guilty that I spend so much money on something so frivolous, (the food, not the facials. I'd never feel guilty for that. Nice priorities, eh?) but I work really hard dammit.
How really rich people deal with spending obscene amounts of money on things without feeling a bit guilty is beyond me.
So there you have it. My confession of my careless spending when there are starving children in the world.
I promise tomorrow I'll tell the tale of why I hate Christmas songs...I swear...