Honey re those new shoes? What, these OLD things? and other such lies--

I am not a big shopper. I do not get pleasure out of checking each rack in a department store. I like to plan what I needed to buy, buy it, and leave the mall. The mall, to me, is not a destination. A coworker told me that she dresses up to the hilt when she goes to the shopping mall near where I live. She said that she wants to experience living on the “other side.” I told her that she needs to forgive me if she sees me there. I do not get dressed to go to any mall. I grab the first pair of jeans I see hanging over the back of the chair in my bedroom, grab the first pair of sandals or my flip-flops that I can pull from the closet, my purse, my car keys and off I go. My husband told me that I should be paid if I were a walking advertisement of any store. For this reason, I do not carry Victoria’s Secret bags as I want to keep most of my secrets to myself.

I have friends who hide their purchases from their husbands or partners. They have become adept at hiding purchases under the bed, in the trunk of their car, in their backpacks, guest rooms. I am not an exception. I hide mine in the former nanny’s closet and completely forget about them. I do have a couple of pairs of shoes there, now that I remember!

Men just do not understand the power of a new purse or a new pair of shoes or a new outfit to the psyche of a woman. They think women overdo shopping. My husband does not understand why I have over 25 purses, over 125 blouses; well, let us not start to count pairs of shoes. But if we do the math, he would see that there are 52 weeks in a year, 5 days each week that I need to wear a different blouse, hopefully 2 weeks using the same purse and shoes. He keeps insisting I do not need Botox shots for the pesky “11” on my forehead. Then he asks why I am scowling. That is the point! Without that poison injected on my forehead, I will scowl until the day I die.

One day, he saw a box of what appeared to be shoes. He said, “Oh, expensive shoes, huh?” Wrong approach. Martian versus Venus. “That is why I married up!” I snapped. That was a compliment, right? He said, “I was not criticizing, I just recognized the brand, that’s all.” “Good, because I work too, you know?” What is my problem? I think my problem is that I have been too independent all my adult life. I have a real issue with suggestions or any implication that I cannot provide for myself. I do not like to hide purchases or extra money. See, there is no right or wrong approach to these issues; only a good argument. And there is a good argument to hide them!

Two years ago, borrowing a brilliant idea from my colleague, I pursued the argument that I should keep all moneys given to me as a result of my merit reviews. I also said that I would share whatever is given to me as a Cost of Living Allowance. Husband (HB) agreed that it is a good idea. After all, I said, my merit increase is rewarding me for doing a great job and has nothing to do with the cost of milk. As a result, the merit increases have provided me with a relatively hefty “mad money” in the last couple of years. Very recently, we discovered that due to a variety of changes in my withholding and other deductions, I have been getting an obscenely amount of mad money. Even I was shocked. However shocked as I was, I did not bother to “return” the money because that was money I earned, I decided. I kept mum about it until one day last week, the HB who used to be an accountant before becoming a lawyer discovered it, asked that I fix the “problem,” forgiving my past omission of extra money received (his word not mine), and return the recent extra. We are not even talking of four digits converted here!

There are many truths about women. One of them is that a man shall not bring bad news to them when they are hungry and or feeling good about themselves that day. Why? Because in my case, he messed up my otherwise gorgeous day! I was focusing on something at work and he messed up my mojo! When I got that e-mail, I wanted to kill myself because I am too chicken to kill someone else. I fought with him for the next 14 hours about the issue instead.

My argument: First, we are not impoverished. Return the money I took from myself? I do not even return purchases, for crying out loud! We are by no means poorer by the $175 dollars I kept, okay double that, what for the last three months. I was angry; I actually went online to read the divorce law of our state; I wanted to know if my son would inherit anything if I killed myself and that if I do kill myself, the $525 I have been diverting will go back to HB and he should be happy going forward. No one will steal the $175 anymore every 15th and 30th of the month. Happy?

But then I thought, my jewelry will go to some younger woman who would definitely convince my grieving and infatuated HB to write my son out of our will. You see, a will is a dead person’s wish. And who cares about me when I am nothing but fertilizer!? I hasten to add that this new wife will be driving the Jaguar. Sorry, not acceptable! Besides, you do not die on a lawyer. He will prevail over any last word I leave. So I decided that killing myself was not the answer; besides, I do not know how to. On all the true crime stories I watch, there is always someone put in jail for killing. It would not be fair for my HB to be put in jail just because I took a handful of Vitamin E. Did he buy the vitamins before I swallowed them? Hmmm..premeditation. Did he have a motive? $1050 total I stashed and a trust fund. Intent? He would not tell me that, would he. Well, I opted to fight it out instead.

I am sure I am not alone in believing that women who work outside their homes and still keep up the maintenance of their household should never be questioned about money they get to keep or spend as they. Folding laundry should be paid at a labor rate of $30/an hour, making the bed $45, cooking meals $100/hour, listening to the same jokes and stories, $375/hour! Let the poor, tired woman keep it!

HB asked me why I have a problem of putting the extra money from my pay check into the family coffers and then use the ATM to take it out if I needed it. Is that a stupid question or what? If I were to take it out of the ATM subsequent to relinquishing it, then why do I need to go through the motion in the first place?

When I am pissed, I get loud. Okay, I yell. I yell the following: I have a problem asking someone for money and I have a serious resentment when my activities are tracked via ATM card, Credit Card, and Checks. I assert that I am entitled to some privacy within the structure of my marriage. I argue that I am entitled to some personal space. I did not get married to become my HB’s best friend. My best friend lives in Buffalo. I married him because I love him dearly, and his enemies are mine; his friends my friends. I will pursue anyone who tries to harm him, and we are really compatible but I did not want him to be my twin.

I never understood people who say their spouse is their best friend? What? You do not have any friend that your spouse is your best friend? That is sad. Do you go shopping for shoes at the outlet malls with him? Does he go with you to the nail spa? Do you tell him how much exactly did you spend on your cosmetics and clothes? Not me. I want to keep a few secrets from my husband. That’s what makes us unique individuals in our marriage. He can keep his secrets if he likes. I keep my own – like how much I really paid for the darn outfit or that purse or that I send our son $150 when I say $50. Those kinds of secrets!

We had a long, heated discussion about the diverted $175, twice a month for three months. I was the diverter. Now, as we all know, money is the number one cause of friction in the family. In my case, the problem is that I could never accept the fact that I am part of “our money.” I have programmed myself to believe that I should live by what extra I get to keep from my salary, and anything other than that is just flat out diversion. Okay, stealing. It depends on which camp you are in. If you are my friend, you will say it is justifiable to do that. If you are HB’s friend or his mother, you might say “That woman steals from you!” But how can I be stealing from what is mine to begin with? If I cannot argue that it is my money, is that not "our money?" So I think, someone was playing with my brain and I am too tired for the game so I just wanted a bright light.

I asked, “Am I or am I not entitled to take out money from the ATM, notwithstanding my monthly allowance? “Yes. Absolutely!” “ Really? That’s bullshit. I take something and I feel like a bank robber”. Well, I was told, “You are the one who is mental because you feel that way.” “Did you just label me crazy?” “Yes.” Fine, I did not dignify that. I choose my battles. We are talking about $175 here, okay? He then gave me a golden opportunity.

He asked, “Let us say you are in my shoes. You find out your spouse is stashing away money from you. Would you not be upset?” Lights turned on, bright lights. I said, “You mean you were me and I were you?” “Yes.” “Let me tell you what I would say. Jeez, honey, you do not need to stash money. I tell you what, just keep all the money you make. We can get by with the money I make! That is what I would say!” He was stunned. And annoyed. Big time.

I continued, “Am I or am I not entitled to keep the extra I make so long as I have contributed to what I was told to contribute.” “Yes and No. It is outrageous for you to keep such a great amount of extra money.” “ Well, let me just say that I worked for it, I pay my contributions, I get to keep what is above and beyond my responsibilities. Drop dead to those who are outraged or think otherwise.” And that is when the F bomb dropped and it ricocheted. “Bleep you!” he said. I smiled. “Bleep you too!” It is true that money is the root-canal of evil!! I know, I know. Laughter will set me free.

There was a few moments of silence. I thought at this point that this is probably how grandparents end up having their own separate bedroom. They have more years of pent up issues, perhaps. It occurred to me that I might end up with the basement room if I keep this up. Thank God, he just got an email. He excused himself.

R-e-l-i-e-f.

The next day, HB went out to run his errands. I was getting ready to run my own when my Blackberry buzzed. My Buffalo best friend texted me. “Whatever, do not kill yourself. Your HB called me. Think of the Jayhawk, he will miss you if you die. Be smart! Call me before you kill yourself, ok?”

I texted back, “No worries. I will not kill myself. I am too upset to talk. He is a jerk but I will not kill myself. I am shopping today.”

“Ok, do not kill yourself after shopping today. There will be more items on sale on Easter. You will miss out on those!”

“Thank you, LOL! I love you!”

When HB returned from his errands, I asked to speak to him. He told me he thought the issue was resolved but apparently it was not. We discussed a more acceptable way of ending and resolving issues. Saying “I am sorry I had to pick up my shirts from the cleaners” is definitely not an apology. Responding, “Well I am sorry too because I missed my NatGeo program because of this discussion’” is neither. So he said, “Okay, I thought about this and it is so petty and it is not worth the aggravation. You keep whatever you want to keep and just contribute what you think is reasonable.”

Are you bleeping serious?

This is what I mean—why in heaven’s name did he ever bring it up when it was not going to be worth the aggravation to begin with? On the first day I returned to work, I changed my deductions to reinstate my contributions to avoid future encounter as such.

The day before yesterday, I went home early and passed by the store. I had a shopping bag the size of Bermuda. I had three purses and three blouses and reading glasses in there. I took the Metro home. I was feeling smug. I had not one, not two, but three purses! I planned to hide them. I swiped my Metro Smart card on the turnstile. Then someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Hi honey, I did not expect to see you here!” “Oh hi!” I carried the shopping bag on my left hand. We walked home together, the bag seemingly invisible. We talked, we laughed. He did not utter a word about the shopping bag. YES!! My secret is safe!