Last night, as I was waiting for the bus, I dropped my new iPod, cracking its little face and breaking my little heart. During my lunch break today, I visited the "Genius Bar" at the Apple Store on Michigan Avenue, where a man with a pierced lower lip and a nametag identifying him as "Cran" used his mighty intellect to conclude that my problem isn't covered under the warranty and that if I want a replacement iPod I have to pay half the retail price. I wish I could say the news was easier to take coming from a genius, but, in truth, it made little difference.
This unforeseen expense is particularly dismaying because I've been trying to be more fiscally responsible lately, especially when it comes to nonessential spending for items such as iPods and food ("Why don't you just stop spending so much on books and movies and plays?" asked my boyfriend, showing how little he knows me). But what's the point of being fiscally responsible when Fate is determined to send you to the poorhouse?
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