OK, I don’t stop with food. Cathy got some flats to wear when she absolutely, positively can’t wear sneakers. We can’t call them “dress shoes” because Cathy doesn’t do dress-up.
She hates to buy shoes because none of them fit. She’s right. Her feet are shaped more like shoe boxes than shoes.
So she buys whatever she can, spending as little as possible. She spends more on concert tickets, books and (thankfully) dog walking. She just begrudges paying for anything that causes pain and pinches her toes.
This last pair were pretty ugly. She was desperate and they fit, more or less. But she knew: they really should go.
I saw what was needed. On her own, she would never replace them. It was my duty to chew them up. Now she’s forced to buy new ones.
So…why did she yell, “Oh no, Gracie!” and shove me into my crate? When do I get a nice thank you biscuit?
When hell freezes over…or Cathy voluntarily dresses up when she doesn’t have to. Not tomorrow, for sure.