So with these major purchases going on (and Citibank calling us daily to make sure no one has stolen our credit card), I have been watching our bank accounts online like a hawk. Imagine my surprise when $400 came up unaccounted for.
I'm not winning any points for reasonable responses these days, so my reaction was a little...over-the-top. To say the least.
And in the proud tradition of every crazy wife who watches her husband trot off to New Orleans for a bachelor party weekend, I immediately jumped to conclusions and accused Brian of blowing the budget on...er, entertainment.
"You were at a strip club while I -" sniff, sniff - "languished at the house, dealing with the security guy, the internet guy, and the painters!" I wailed to him last night. "And to think you spend money on this! Our HOUSE money! It's like...like, glitter in the wound!"
Oh yes, I was in fine form last night.
After several HOURS of discussion, Brian was able to reassure me where exactly the money was spent (think: cab rides and cocktails.) I'd like to think we were in a better place when the dust finally settled, but poor Brian. We need to get into this house before they put me in a padded room.
(Editor's note: After re-reading this entry, I realized I wasn't clear on a few things. First, I know and accept that Brian went to a strip club - maybe several? - during his time in NOLA. No, sadly, it's not the thought of my husband looking at naked ladies that makes me upset. It's the idea that he might spend $400 doing so. Because let's face it, folks: $400 is the difference between a stainless steel, french-door refrigerator with an ice dispenser and one that doesn't. And I really like ice.)