Our Mexican bank screwed up the PIN number on my debit card, so I can’t use the ATM. Lately I’ve had to ask Crayton anytime I need money.
“Honey? Do you have 100 pesos? I want to take a cab to Polanco.”
“Honey? Do you have 100 pesos? I have my dance class today.”
Of course he doesn’t care, nor does he ask me for an explanation. I automatically offer one because I don’t want him to think I’m spending his money frivolously.
Where did this “his money” stuff come from? As a married couple, we don’t believe in it. His money is my money. My money is his money. We have a pool of “our” money, and we always have, since we got married. Under the budgetary rules we designed, both of us have a set amount of cash we can spend each month on things like dance classes and cab rides. (Or for him, beer and beer.) We don’t need to report to the other person what we’re spending.
But now, well…. a tiny voice inside me has piped up. Maybe, because I’m not working, he controls the purse strings?
Usually it’s just a small pine-nut of guilt and I can ignore it. Because if he controls the purse strings, then that means I’m somehow less equal in our partnership. That the work I do — cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping, social-calendar planning, freelance writing — is somehow less valuable. And I know in my heart that’s not true. In order for this whole “not working” thing to work, I need to believe that what I do matters. And at this point, 95 percent of me does.
The other day, I forgot to ask him for money to pay Lola. It happened to fall on a day when he couldn’t leave the office. So I went and visited him, and it was nice to see him there, in front of his four computer screens. But it was weird that I was there for cash. (I tried to joke about it. “Can I please have my money, papá de azúcar? Thank you.”) He gave me 200 pesos and I left.
But then, when I got home, I realized I needed 100 pesos more. So I had to go back again. This time I felt a teensy bit more embarrassed — a smidge more like a 50’s housewife who needed cash for the hair salon. I got my money and left. Didn’t say hi or smile at anyone.
I know, I know there’s no point in feeling guilty about any of this. There’s no truth to it. I am spending our money. Not his money. We are both equal here.
My new PIN number should arrive by early next week, and I’m sure once I can get my own money out of the ATM, I’ll forget all about this. Can’t wait to buy my own Starbucks coffee without asking hubby for change.
This is way too funny! Ever since going freelance I have felt the same way! When I was working full-time we were both going insane from stress and when I left the paper we both felt the relief of knowing that at least one of us would be able to do stuff like care for sick dogs, handle business-type stuff during business hours, make sure the house is tidy, etc. Still, I miss that paycheck that validated me! I do feel like a 50s housewife sometimes!!!
Okay, yeah, showing up at his work, twice, for cash, would be hard. So funny, Lesley. I hope your pin number arrives quickly.
I occasionally leave my wallet in Mike’s car after I go to the gym and have to drive to his work to get it, but I just grab it and go, not even a hello.
Ha ha, it took me a while to get the papá de azúcar thing LOL.