Don’t tell Rachel

So, I’ve been wanting a pair of Toms for a year now. Maybe more. Those are some freaking awesome shoes, and the only thing that has stopped me from having them is the fact that I have 3 teenage girls that would love, love, love to ALSO have a pair of Toms, and let me tell you, that adds up. One pair, no problem. Four pair? That’s a thing you have to plan for budget-wise.

Blair and I went out of town over Labor Day weekend and happened to be at a store that sells Toms, along with many other fine things. We tried out colognes, tried on clothes, and ended up buying a very hot shirt for Blair, and a pair of silver sparkly Toms for me.

Ta DA!!!

Here’s the problem.

Rachel.

She cannot find out that I bought Toms.

Seriously, she’ll be on me like white on rice.

Like fleas on a dog.

Like sticky on toddlers.

She will not rest until she has those shoes.

She’ll be very nice about it. No fits, or crying, or meanness or backtalk. But she’s persistent….the way that dripping water is persistent, it just drives you insane with the drip…drip…..drip…..

And, I won’t be able to buy her a pair without buying her sisters a pair. And we’re back to square one, with four pairs of shoes.

So, this has been my  m.o.

Get dressed, sans shoes. Check to see where Rachel is, and Jessica.  Jessica would definitely rat me out.

Then, when I’m completely ready to go, I sneak into my room, to the hidden location of the secret Toms, and hide them in my purse.

Once I am safely in the car, I happily put my new, sparkly Toms on my feet.

DONT TELL RACHEL.