“There are three books my daughter
felt were the most important influences in her life: The Bible, her mother’s
cookbook, and her father’s checkbook.” - Joyce Mattingly
“Someone stole all my credit cards,
but I won’t be reporting it. The thief spends less than my wife did.” - Henny
Youngman
“My wife has been attending a lot of
financial seminars. So far it’s cost me $1,000 for her to learn how to save us
money.” - Kenneth Goorabian
Among us
married folks, money has always been a hot-button topic right up there with the
two S’s. They are, of course, sex and sandwiches. I adore both, but given the
choice I will on occasion choose the latter if cheese is involved. We’re talking
cheddar here.
As my wife
and I perused Goodwill the other day, I was thinking about money and how lucky
I was to have a low-maintenance woman who loves rummaging through other
people’s discarded junk as much as I do. We have loads of fun, even though she
doesn’t share my obsession with ceramic monkeys or 8-track tape players. But
fear not, I don’t hold her less-than-enthusiastic attitude regarding fine art or
cutting-edge technology against her. Every dog has to scratch its own fleas, or
so my granddad used to say.
Having a frugal
spouse is quite wonderful. She finds all kinds of uses for things we might
never utilize. Take for instance the 500 (slight exaggeration) condoms she
received as a gift at her bridal shower a few years ago. If you factor in my
age and the sandwich equation above, I will die long before they are used up,
but will go with a full belly and a cheesy grin.
The other
day she came out of the bedroom with a handful of the aforementioned pickle
protectors and strode like Peter Piper to the front door. Now, contrary to my
claim about lack of precipitation in So Cal, it was pouring rain outside. Being
the inquisitive (i.e. suspicious) husband/rat that I am, I begrudgingly abandoned
my salami and Swiss on rye (only looking back once or twice with longing; call
me Lot’s wife and turn me into a salt lick) and followed.
I found her
kneeling on the flooded walkway and watched with fascination as she slipped the
pickle protectors over the air conditioner’s condensate (Google this) line, which
was now nearly submerged under the rising water due to poor (not mine)
landscape design. Left unprotected, the water would have quickly traveled back
into the house and cost us a fortune. Genius, I thought. Why hadn’t I thought
of it? I was married to Miss-Gyver.
So the next
time she makes a sandwich using the sourdough heels (completely throws off the
bread to meat/cheese/condiment ratios don’t-cha-know) as a cost-saving measure,
I will stuff my face with crusty pride. Maybe someday she’ll power up the
lights using a lemon, chewing gum wrapper, and a few pieces of copper wire so I
can tell Edison to take a hike.
K.G.
