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Meet Super Girl

Super Girl was pissed. Super Girl's idea of marriage is one completely bereft of spending any weekend evening apart in which either one of us (code for "me") is at a casino, strip joint or car dealership. I suppose were it a Monday, all bets would be off!

On my way home, I stopped off at Fashion Square Mall to pick up a pair of jeans from Lucky, Super Girl's favorite maison-de-denim, thinking that this offering will help dull the pain of my sudden re-emergence after such a long shocking absence. I pay using my credit card so to maximize the wad-of-cash-effect, central to my explaining later to Super Girl why I spent the night out so late.

So, I walk through the door out of which I'd left 11 hours earlier, wad and sexy new jeans in hand. I am immediately attacked by our 3 dogs who have likely spent the evening being indoctrinated into hating me for not being home. They smell me energetically sensing I've come from new circles of odors tainted by new particles of food, beverage and smoke. This of course leads my wife through the inevitable calculus which aims to prove that new odors equate to debauchery. I decide to bypass the formal presentation of the premium jeans and go right to offering the full wad including stake and winnings as tribute.

Combined with being able to respond admirably to rapid fire questions regarding the timeline of the previous 11 hours, I am awarded 'hero' status for my selfless acts. I take some satisfaction in a Camel Light in which I indulge recreationally after battle, and agree that I'd best defer asking for my wad back until after Super Girl tries on her jeans. Joy.

The jeans fit, brunch is served and Super Girl happily does the dishes while orchestrating where best to spend "our" money. Coming next: "To bankroll or to shop".


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