Vacuous Muff Fact #977: I meticulously keep every receipt I receive from every department store, Ethiopian restaurant, dry cleaner, dress tailor, hot dog stand, yarn shop, and library check-out — not because I am some uber-bookkeeper (in fact, I am exactly the opposite), but because you never, ever know when you might need to produce an alibi with a time, date, and proof of your whereabouts. My darling husband, Gregory -- who was raised as the child of academics in the rareified air of the privileged Upper-Middle Class -- thinks I am completely insane for my reasoning...while I consider my actions to be perfectly logical. What I explain to him is that these seemingly excessive safeguards are most certainly the shadowy vestiges of a Rough and Tumble Working Class upbringing in Fresno, California...in which you never know when you might have to cover your ass with the law, and you never know when you might have to pack your shit and jam in the middle of the night. In my life, I have had to do both.