I’ve been trying to save up my sweet cash dollars for a while now, what with the upcoming summer months being chock-a-block full of fun and fancy things (like trips to NY, and Ashland; weddings galore, and my five-year wedding anniversary, to just name a few.)
Now, stashing all my hard earned moolah under my mattress hasn’t really been all that hard – what with how unbelievable busy I have been since the birth of the new year, and me not being an overly extravagant person (outside of my personality, of course).
But yesterday I was in London Drugs, hemming and hawing over two brands of nail polish – practically having a conniption fit over which one I should purchase – when my lovely husband turned to me and said, “Vanessa – they are $4.99 each. I think you can maybe splurge and get both.”
My response was rather short.
“Huh,” I said.
So I did. I purchased them both.
And I am (kind of?) proud to say that I only spent about five minutes worrying about whether or not I had gone overboard.
But that’s when it hit me –
I AM BECOMING A CRAZY OLD MISER.
For real dudes.
I am Scrooge McDuck, incarnate.
(The fear that this strikes in me is only partially quelled by my long-standing desire to go swimming in a giant vault filled with nothing but gold coins.)
Side bar: As a child, I used to think about the logistics of what exactly doing the front crawl in a pool of coins would entail. I thought about this A LOT. I mean, if you just dove right in (off of a diving board and everything) wouldn’t you just concuss yourself on the massive pile of coinage? And if you DID manage to break through, wouldn’t you just DROWN in the literal manifestation of your ridiculous wealth? For reals, that idea – of drowning in a giant pile of metallic (I know it’s gold, but I just think of how terrible pennies feel and smell) awfulness is enough to bring on a panic attack.
Must. Think. About. Other. Things.
Okay, back my curmudgeonly ways.
This isn’t to say that I’m scrimping on the bare necessities (nor Mother Nature’s recipes). I like to think that I still exit the house looking swell, and I’m definitely eating foods filled with enough nutrients to stave off the scurvy and the rickets.
I’m just stopping myself from buying anything that I don’t absolutely NEED, even though there are tons of things out there that my little, silly heart so very much WANTS.
I mean, I think it’s normal to get to a point where you look at your clothes (in particular your work clothes) and think to yourself: I CANNOT EVER WEAR ANY OF THIS STUFF EVER AGAIN.
I think I’m also thinking this stuff because the weather REFUSES to cooperate and I’m still wearing much of my winter wardrobe despite the fact that we are almost at the end of April.
Let me break out the bare legs and dresses damnit!
And I really think there is something to be said for learning to really understand where it is your money is going, and how you can optimize your saving potential BLAH BLAH BLAH.
But then the other part of me is all: I’M TWENTY-EIGHT! LET’S PAAAAAARRTY!
*Eats peanut butter M&Ms and cupcakes for dinner*
So in an effort to find some middle ground, I went out the other day and purchased these amazeballs (YES I SAID IT) pants:
I mean, how epically fantastic are they OR WHAT?
AND THEY ONLY COST FIFTEEN SMACKEROOS!
(Or clams, or bones, or whatever the cool kids are calling them these days.)
Meanwhile Marc, being the HUGEST anti-fan of patterned pants is totally thinking, “She could have just bought three more bottles of nail polish!”
Alas, he will just have to walk two steps in front/behind of me whilst I’m out rocking these pantaloons.
And they will be rocked, oh yes.
I mean, I’ve got to look good when I’m out not buying anything, right?
There’s no other way I’d rather be.