Money, Money, Money, Money… Money

“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.