Anything for a Buck

The Essay

My grandmother had a saying: “People are funny when it comes to money.” She could have been talking about me. I’ve always been insanely frugal, no matter what my financial situation. It’s not just that I bring my own bag of candy to the movies. I also drive miles out of my way to save 70 cents on tomatoes and patronize drugstores only where I have a frequent shopper’s card, and I have been known to return grocery items with the intention of buying them again when they go on sale. When I first started dating Ben (who is now my husband) and he noticed that I was reusing paper napkins, he asked, “Uhhh, did you grow up in the Depression or something?” I remember blushing, crumpling up my two-week-old napkin, and throwing it away. (Sob. Good-bye, old friend!) I understood that my coupon-clipping ways weren’t cool and tried to keep them safely hidden from view.
 
But then the financial world collapsed and everything changed. For the better, I daresay. Yes, the beauty of the total global economic meltdown―for me, anyway―is that now everyone is freaking out about money. I’m not alone anymore! Like never before, I’m free to obsess about my quest for bargains and freer still to worry openly about money―a habit that’s a fundamental part of my identity. I’m in recession heaven.
 
For years I shamefully hid the generic version of Total cereal that I buy (Ben calls it “Sub-Total”) in the back of the cupboard, but now I proudly display it on the counter, where it can be admired in all its $2.50 glory. At my local drugstore, I loudly grouse about the price of my hair product being raised without worrying about sounding shrill. I don’t have to explain why I can’t fly across the country to attend my great-aunt’s 90th-birthday party; everyone understands. Pre-recession, if I was out with a group at a restaurant, I panicked if someone ordered sparkling water for the table. Now I request “Tap, please,” and no one objects.