On Point

It’s only money, honey

By: Linda McCarthy
   Every two weeks for the past 25 years my husband and I have followed the same routine. He says, "Did you update that check book?" I say, "Yes, my beloved, my most precious, my reason for being." And then it goes downhill from there.
   Apparently, since the day I first said, "I do," I have been single handedly responsible for the economic downfall of our household, our nation, the world and beyond. He rants about every "unnecessary" purchase I make from tea bags to toilet paper. Normally he is pretty even tempered. But in that brief, bimonthly time frame, he is a raving lunatic.
   When we were first married, I handled all the financials. I never yelled, I paid everything on time, I bought my own stamps, plucked dollar bills from the money tree in the back yard and life was good. Then one day he inexplicably decided he would take over. All of a sudden I’m justifying line items.
   His biggest issue seems to be my frequent visits to the wholesale club. At any given moment there are at least 10 people in this house. Between my sons, their friends and out-of-town drop-in guests, I often feel I should apply for business status as a bed and breakfast. (Unfortunately, most guests never actually get a bed. They usually wind up sleeping on the couch or the floor and I never make breakfast so I’d have to check into the legalities.) Running the "Dew Drop Inn" is expensive. Buying in bulk makes economic sense.
   My son had an eye doctor’s appointment. My husband suggested I wait for the next pay period. I had to explain to him the teachers at the blind school said we could forgo the Braille instruction if we got the poor kid glasses. I made the appointment ASAP. My son sees perfectly this pay period.
   I found it in my best interest to not even mention the dental bill for the cat. Apparently we haven’t been brushing and flossing its teeth so he needed root scraping. Normally my rule is: whatever it costs to put him down is my spending limit. This trip to the vet I had my son with me. I wanted to set a good example. So $704.62 later I appear to be a caring person. In addition the cat can bite me even harder than he normally does.
   I entered that check in the register as a donation to my husband’s favorite charity. As is my custom, I rename payees to protect the innocent; namely me. Over the years I’ve come to learn what he deems as a necessary expense. So far I’ve "donated" over two million dollars to Catholic Charities. This way I do what needs to be done and he remains blissfully ignorant.
   After all this time together, the little bill-paying scenario is status quo for us. But here’s the problem: He and I are used to the reckless banter. Our houseguests are not. I think we scared them.
   Truthfully, I thought we were alone in the house when the latest go round started:
   He starts yelling.
   I remind him the windows are open.
   He keeps yelling.
   I slam a door.
   He’s still yelling.
   I get a potty mouth.
   He yells louder.
   I turn up the TV.
   He can’t find stamps.
   I suggest a few choice places he should look for them.
   He insults my weight.
   I go to bed.
   The next morning he gets up and says, "Sorry for yelling. I didn’t mean it. I love you and you’re beautiful." Then he trots off to work in NYC like nothing ever happened. I call after him, "Sorry, honey. I love you, too. Have a good day and don’t get blown up."
   Hmmm, now there’s a thought.

   Linda McCarthy resides in Robbinsville with her husband and three children.