Gary had an interview this morning for what could potentially be an extremely lucrative business opportunity. In other words, WE’RE RICH!
Just kidding. But if he gets it, I won’t have to steal shoes for work off sleeping hobos anymore! And not a moment too soon, because I’m starting to suspect a couple of them are on to me. They’ve been looking a little extra paranoid schizophrenic of late, if you know what I mean.
Before I got married and annexed the word “budget” into my vocabulary, I used to spend money like there was no tomorrow. I would drop $100 at Target almost monthly like it was nothing. During that time, Gary also had an extremely well paying job at an architecture firm, which is why we have such an exorbitant amount of high end camping gear. Sometimes when I think back to those days, I cry a little...partially at the thought that we used to have that much disposable income, but mostly because we didn’t save a dime. Maybe if we strike it rich, I’ll buy a time machine so I can go back a few years and kick myself in the shins.
I’m glad we’ve had this period of minor deprivation – I say minor because, contrary to what I may have led you all to believe, we are not actually destitute or starving – because now that we’ve both become accustomed to a more conservative style of living, maybe we’ll actually be able to save some money! Ok who am I kidding...when I say “we,” I just mean me. I’m pretty sure Gary could survive on nothing but uncooked rice and one pair of pants for a year. He’s a survivor; he ain’t gon’ give up.
I, on the other hand, do not possess the superhuman frugality he seems to have been blessed with from birth, so I’m just proud to be able to say I don’t have any big plans to spend all his money as soon as he gets it. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my house will probably never look like a page out of an IKEA catalog and that I’ll never own a Cadillac that says my name whenever I get inside (even though I TOTALLY know someone who has one of those. I’ve got a few friends at the top...which you’ll do well to remember should you ever attempt to cross me.)
The one lofty ambition I haven’t yet been able to pry from my steel death grip is that some day we’d be able to afford to pay someone to do our laundry. I hate doing laundry with every fiber of my being. If laundry had a face, I would punch it repeatedly. If laundry had a car, I would slash its tires. If laundry had a kid, I would tell my kids to throw rocks at that kid.
From the way he laughs and lovingly pats my head whenever I mention the idea, it seems that Gary thinks I’m kidding. I assure you, I’m not. I will happily do the dishes, sweep, mop, dust, vacuum, brush the dog, cook dinner and clean up after our four strapping young boys; all I ask in return is that we pay someone a reasonable fee to come in and wash our unmentionables.