Tuesday, October 30, 2012


I should probably relegate this entry to my “bitch and moan” journal, but I’m going to post it here…just because.

I love it when the Universe finds a way, even when I seem to be doing my best to retreat back into my head, to drop little bombs of insight on me.

Yesterday, a woman from a local carpet store came out to the house to take measurements for the carpeting I hope to have installed before the holidays. Now, you know you are somewhat starved for human interaction when you manage to buttonhole the carpet lady into a forty-minute chat about things that have nothing to do with carpeting. (Insight #1…) The conversation started when, by way of apology for the atrocious condition of the carpet we’re having removed, I mentioned that my husband and I had recently given up possession of a local restaurant which had kept us from doing much besides sleeping in our house for five years.

Whereupon the carpet lady and I discovered we had this in common. She had owned a restaurant for a decade back in the 80’s. So we shared little reminiscences about the difficulties of controlling food costs, and dealing with customers, and relating to employees, and…husbands.

“Yeah…I was married back then,” she said. “Until we found out my husband was embezzling…”

My eyebrows shot skyward. “From you?”


Turns out that she—being a CPA as well as owner of a successful pizza restaurant (in her twenties!)—used to calculate and fill in all the tax reports, and then turn them over to her husband, who was in charge of dealing with the mail. Husband would then cash the tax checks, trash the reports and, since he was in charge of mail, dispose of any and all correspondence from the IRS. After about five years of this, the young entrepreneur discovered that she was married to a scoundrel and had a $200,000 debt to the IRS hanging over her head. Yikes!

And here I’ve been whining because my husband wasn’t emotionally supportive enough to suit me! Insight #2—or, more accurately, giant dope-slap issued by the Almighty.

Looks as if Someone wants me to know that if I’m looking for a reason to feel sorry for myself, I need to look elsewhere…

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