The worst part of coming home...

...is trying to figure out what the hell all the receipts mean before they escape from my wallet and flee into the ether, never to be seen - or reimbursed - again. And so I find myself saying things like, "I KNOW I never ordered an appletini" and "The Slug and Lettuce? I ate at a restaurant named after a mollusc?" and "Wait, that was in POUNDS?"