Before I moved to London I couldn’t wait until the day I was a big city gal, whimsically hailing cabs with a casually glorious semi-smile on my face. I’d toss my shopping bags in the back and be on my fabulous way.
I woke up this morning and felt a deep pain in the place my pocket normally resides. I realized I’d wasted yet another £30 ($50) on a cab ride home from the city because I was too stupid to leave 15 minutes earlier to catch the last train and too (I don’t even know the word – smart?) to take the night bus home.
Thirty pounds doesn’t sound like so much, but I’ve developed a habit of easily convincing myself it’s worth the money to not have to take the bus, tube, whatever. “Oh, it’s only £10. Oh, it’s only £20.”
Two months later it’s nearly £200 spent because my stupid hand won’t stop sticking itself out in the street and stopping cabs.
And instead of looking like this:
I looked like this:
So, no, taking cabs does not make you fabulous. It makes you another drunk idiot with less money than you had before. And the fabulous shopping bag? Just an empty, crumpled up, in-case-I-puke shopping bag.
Some people waste money on smoking. Some people waste money on compulsive shopping. I waste money on cabs, and I think cab addiction should be hailed as a serious medical affliction in the same regard as other addictions.
I kinda feel like Annie on Bridesmaids, “Help me I’m poor.”
By the way – if you’re up for cat jokes, cute cat pictures, and discovering the makings of a crazy cat lady, check out my sister’s blog, Furry Little Cousins. It’s great!