The Earring

Book 1 Part 6

Volatile temperaments were not the only thing to tarnish the shine of marital bliss. Neither of us liked attending to the mundane details of life, but I soon discovered that my laissez faire attitude did not extend to finance. We established a joint checking account a few months before the wedding, so we could both contribute to the cost of setting up house. David moved into our future apartment at the beginning of the summer, while I went home to pack my life into a few boxes and prepare for our wedding. He kept the books while I was gone.

After we got home from the hapless honeymoon, we planned a shopping expedition to furnish the apartment. David had slept on a mattress thrown on the floor, eaten off of cardboard boxes, and sat in a torn lawn chair. His only purchases were a television – to feed his addiction, and an apartment-sized washer. He also was given an antiquated dryer that wouldn't fit in the utility area and so claimed a corner of the living room.

Since we were poor students, our shopping itinerary included the Salvation Army, Goodwill, and the Campus Barter Shoppe. I dug the checkbook out of the stack of papers in the corner and turned to the ledger. It was blank.

"David," I said. "Where do you keep the books?"

He tapped his head. "Up here."

"I'm sure you have an idea up there of how much money we have, but where do you write down the checks?"

"I don't." I stared at him with my mouth open as he explained his accounting system. "I keep a running tally of how much I spend, and once a month or so, I call the bank and find out my balance."

I licked my dry lips and then croaked out, "What if you have an outstanding check or two when you call the bank?"

"I told you, I keep the figures in my head, so I usually know about how much I have. I'm rarely more than a few dollars off when I call the bank."

I tried to speak, but no sound came out. I cleared the frog from my throat and tried again. In a reedy voice, I informed my new husband that I would be taking over the books. I was not willing to risk a bounced check because the calculator in David's head malfunctioned. Later I suspected that he deliberately devised this haphazard bookkeeping scheme to get out of the chores of bill payment and checkbook balancing.

This, though, was not our only financial challenge. It soon became clear that our fiscal philosophies were in opposition. He must have been a reincarnated suicide victim of the great depression – that's how tight he was. He was always vetoing purchases as extravagant. There was no need to buy new underwear if the ones we had were stained and dingy. Who was going to see them anyway? In fact, he wore several holey pair until I 'lost' them. I told him Yeti, the nickname I gave the monstrous dryer, must have eaten them.

I wanted to keep an accurate account of our finances so I would know how much money we had to spend. I wasn't adverse to a budget, but I felt justified in splurging on a special occasion, say an anniversary.

On our first anniversary, David took me to a fancy restaurant. Before that, when we ate out, we frequented Bella's Grill or Bud's Barbeque, student haunts that had fairly tasty food at reasonable prices. The prices were kept low because neither joint wasted money on décor or wait staff. You ordered at the counter and took care of your own culinary and condiment needs. Tables that looked like salvaged picnic discards huddled under bare bulbs with low wattage. It was best to concentrate on your companion or your plate, because a stray glance might light on an exploring mouse feasting on yesterday's fry rejects or a trail of ants hauling away dropped bread crusts.

For our anniversary celebration, David made a reservation at an upscale bistro recommended by a professor. When we opened the calligraphy engraved menus, David's gulp was audible. As he peered at the menu in the dim lightening, I'm sure I heard him mutter that the purpose for the candlelight was so that patrons could not read the outlandish prices beside the entrees. He anxiously scanned the page, looking for a single digit dollar amount. In 1971 you could still get a decent meal for under $10 a person. David was accustomed to the $5 range.