Phase II: Locking Yourself Into The Budget And Throwing Away The Key

Detoxing off credit cards and the ATM is not for the faint of heart. Hubby especially, suffered horribly. Thwarted desire and frustration ran rampant, daily.

“What do you mean, I can’t buy a book?” he would snarl in outrage.

It bit, hard, dealing with Hubby. But way less than the fanged snake of the bill, which would be cornering me like a mouse at the end of the month. If I gave in to him. “It’s not in The Budget. If you have cash, go ahead.”

Of course he didn’t have any, having spent his allowance within minutes of receiving it. When he committed to The Budget, he was in his right mind (I know, I did the competency eval), so what could he say? Grumbling and cursing, he would subside.

The cycle repeated regularly, for well over a year, relentless as the tide. “In time the Rockies may crumble, Gibralter may tumble, They're only made of clay….” Our love must be made of granite.

The Smoke Bombs Incident

Son, then fourteen, couldn’t find his sack of smoke bombs after several searches upstairs, downstairs, main floor and garage. Typical. Sometimes we take bets on whether, when looking in the mirror, he’ll notice the nose on his face.

Hubby gasped: An idea had come! An idea so clever, if you put a tail on it, you could call it a weasel. “Son! How much would you pay me to find your smoke bombs?”

“Twenty dollars.” (Son has his own funds: allowance, gift moneys, occasional earnings.)

“Make it twenty five. Mom won’t give me any spending money. I’m desperate!”

“OK.”

I cut in. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Son, how much do smoke bombs cost?”

“Fifty cents each.”

Hubby asked, “How many do you have?”

“Twenty.”

“So…?” I locked eyes with Son, willing him to do the math. Nothing. He just looked back. “How much is twenty times fifty cents?”

Hours ticked by. “….Uhhh….”

I took pity on myself, “How much is half of twenty?”

“Oh, yeah. Ten dollars.

“So, is it reasonable to pay Dad twenty five dollars to find ten dollars worth of bombs?”

No hesitation: “Yes. Because I need them tomorrow. It’s too late to buy some today.”

Hubby, bless his heart, said, “Forget it. I can’t take your money.”

Now I got a brilliant idea. “Son!” I said, “Since Dad’s waived his fee, if he finds your smoke bombs, how about you pick up the TV room for me?!”

We all burst out laughing— like that would ever happen. It took Hubby a big thirty seconds to find the smoke bombs in the garage, setting off a second round of belly laughs.

The fever had broken.

Don’t cheat and charge, only to develop a panic disorder. Choose frustration instead, the mother of invention. Let the structure of The Budget inspire you to make money in new ways.

PHOTO CREDITS: Kaan.Sezer (Keys) and Katabasis (Purple Smoke Bomb)

Stay tuned! Next week's post: Phase III, The Budget As Compass North