I'm writing a blog clearly to fulfill narcissistic needs so I hope people read and like it.  I'm also writing it, because the other day when I was having my nails done, the customer to the right of me - a completely average looking 20 something - mentioned that she is getting free nail polish as a result of starting a blog and mentioning her manicures.  I'm really very interested in free stuff.  Not junky, old stuff but good expensive merchandise like the Hogan shoes the woman to the left of me at the manicure place was wearing that day.  I mentioned that I liked her shoes because they were dark leather snazzy sneakers.  She - a middle aged, very thin attractive woman who may or may not have undergone plastic surgery - mentioned that they were very expensive.  In fact, once she did the conversion from euros, she found that she paid about $500.  Now that's a credit card charge that's a little hard to hide from hubby.  So free Hogans would be very, very nice.
      Ah, the hubby.  Where do I begin to describe sweet Edward.  Well, let's see.  Edward is 15 years older than I am which makes him eligible for what I so kindly describe as Old People Discounts.  The other day, he went for a physical, and intellectual/obsessive that he is, he took along a list of his ailments to show the doctor.  He mentioned to me that he learned by writing the list that he has likely experienced every medical condition except miscarriage.  I asked, "What about pregnancy?"  And he responded, "Remember when I thought my breasts were getting bigger?"  Unfortunately, Hypochondriasis is Edward's middle name so when he starts saying how this or that bothers him, I just tune him out.  I'm not sure he listens to much of what I say either so we're probably well matched. 
     Edward just interrupted me to ask how to hang up his pants.  Are you kidding me? 
     Edward and I have no children (probably wise since between us the poor kids would have inherited every psychological disorder currently listed in the DSMIV) but we do have three dogs which not surprisingly have become our child substitutes.  I do agility with one of my dogs which means that I run around like a crazy person with the dog who is running through a course with jumps and other obstacles.  The goal is to run it with no errors in the shortest time possible.  I used to do it with one of my other dogs as well until the training got more complex and he had a mis-hap where a see-saw hit him in the face as he was running off of it.  He developed a fear of much of the equipment, so much so that when we competed, he would take the first obstacle and then run to a member of the ring crew, put his paws on the crew member and look back at me as if to say, "Call the ASPCA immediately!  She beats me!"  I would sweetly call his name as the timer ran on until he finally just ended every one's torment by running out of the ring.
     I must run now to engage in mundane tasks like food shopping and picking up my clip-on hair which was dyed to match my real dyed hair.  Yes, I am proud to say I am very, very high maintenance.