What’s on my mind? Budgeting 101.
I’ve always prided myself on my ability to manage money. Even when I had none, I was able to shave a nickel and get four cents change. “It’s a gift,” say spendthrift friends and relatives.
Sigh! “I can’t help that I’m talented and clever.”
Even now, as the world plods through COVID-19, I’ve managed to stay above water, putting away a few nickels when no one else can.
“How ever do you do it?” asks my banker.
(I almost never see him these days: The bank’s doors are bolted. I’d barge in wearing a mask, but someone would probably press the alarm and I’d be off to the hoosegow, which is a $2 word for the clink, which is a $1 word for jail, which returns me to the subject of my money-management skills.)
My banker is always eager for me to share my tips with him, so he, in turn, can share them with his multi-millionaire clients slowly drowning in debt.
“I already know how much you’ve got,” he whispers, prying for information.
Clutching my purse, I think: “Not true. Why would he look at my puny bank account?”
“You have a puny bank account …”
(Gasp!)
“So how do you manage? What’s your secret? You can trust me-e-e,” he says.
I can’t. But I’ll tell you, blog reader, why I have money jingling in my jeans when others don’t. And yes, it is in coins. And no, there’s nowhere to spend it, or I probably would.
Gambling! That’s my secret. I am a wild, unrepentant gambler! Sometimes, I even bet double or nothing and lose everything - but always win it back. I’m a gambler of the know-when-to-hold-’em, know-when-to-fold-’em persuasion. Lemme tell you my “system.”
With COVID’s arrival, Himself and I emptied our pockets and checked under the couch pillows and looked under the bed to come up with precisely $35.70 between us.
And then gambling fever hit us - big time.
Each afternoon, Himself and I began sitting down to a cut-throat game of cards at a nickel a point. Once in awhile, our neighbors Mr. Harris and Mrs. H heard shouting coming from the direction of our house. After hearing one of us yell: “That’s cheating!” Mrs. H ran around telling the whole neighorhood we had an “open marriage.”
When the news got back to me, I told Mrs. H the only things open in our house were the window and the door, and she was welcome to exit either. Mrs. H seemed disappointed to hear all we do is play cards, and that (as I bragged) I usually win.
Unfortunately, as I later heard, Mrs. H sought out each neighbor to say: “It’s a den of inequity! She usually dominates!” Also unfortunately, Mrs. H neglected to say we play cards, so what everyone heard (and spread further) was that our house is a “den of iniquity,” and I’m a sadist.
Which is quite a different thing from the “inequity” of my domination - my winning streak - at cards.
Unfortunately, as I later heard, Mrs. H sought out each neighbor to say: “It’s a den of inequity! She usually dominates!” Also unfortunately, Mrs. H neglected to say we play cards, so what everyone heard (and spread further) was that our house is a “den of iniquity,” and I’m a sadist.
Which is quite a different thing from the “inequity” of my domination - my winning streak - at cards.
As everyone knows, gambling has winners and losers. Himself and I start with the money equally divided, but after we’ve tallied the score, the loser forfeits a nickel a point. When we eventually lose our shirts (a term known only to professional gamblers), we apply $35.70 to our line of credit, thus bolstering our credit rating.
A couple of days later, when gambling withdrawal produces the sweats and the shakes, we borrow $35.70 from our line of credit and start over.
So that’s my secret! Pssst … Don’t tell the bank.
© Nicole Parton, 2020
