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Every year, on the Fourth of July, my grandmother used to say,
We’d all groan and tell her she was being ridiculous.
Turns out, she was right. Look what came in the mail today:
Yes, hurry up and fire up that grill. Summer’s over!
(just don’t tell him yet, ok?)
$16,000.
That was my salary my first year out of college. Ahhh. . .the glamorous world of advertising.
With this paycheck, I had to afford rent, food, gasoline (for my mom’s beat-up Chevette) and, of course, alcohol. . .while living in a top 50 metro. I remember that I budgeted $10 a week for food, and $10 a week for drinks out with my friends. Good thing I had my priorities straight.
At some point, the Chevette died and I had to get a new car. I got an Escort for about $8,000. I don’t remember what my car payments were, but I was drowning in them. While talking to my dad, somehow it came up that the cost of my car would be about the same as the cost they’d have to pay for a wedding should I get married at some point (hillbillies don’t need real fancy weddin’s). Because I didn’t really foresee a wedding in my near future, I asked them if they’d consider paying off my car loan with the promise that they’d never have to cough up money for some future nuptials.
The deal was made, they paid off the loan. In essence, I married my car. I married an Escort. Not surprisingly, that marriage did not last too long, and I traded the Escort in for a Jeep a few years later.
Less than 10 years after my “wedding for a car” deal, I married a real live man. But, I stayed true to my word and did not ask my parents for any money to pay for the wedding or honeymoon.
I never regretted this deal, because it helped me avoid the one thing my father had begged me to avoid at all costs: credit card debt. I don’t recall him ever warning me about drugs, men or sex, but I do remember his commandment:
Thou shalt not charge more on your card than you can pay off in a month.
So when I heard this on the radio today. . .
“The (average)* 18 year old owns an (average)* of four credit cards. . .”,
*am not sure where the ‘average’ goes and can’t find the original source.
. . .I think my dad must be rolling, er. . .shaking, in his grave (he is cremated).
Four credit cards at 18. I bet none of those kids are driving around in a lame Escort with a “Just Married” sign in the back window.
Today, I bought myself a couple pairs of shorts, a tank top and an adorable bikini. Then I stocked up on Easter Candy and new Easter baskets for the kids.
Phew! Good thing I got that done. It’s almost time for the the stores to stock for Fourth of July picnics.
I’m kidding about those purchases, but doesn’t it seem like retailers have lost their friggin’ minds when it comes to inventory? In mid-January, I walked into our local Target and was confronted with rack upon rack of women’s bathing suits, bikinis and cover ups. Further down were capri pants, short-sleeved blouses and mini-skirts. The few remaining winter clothes were crammed onto a few Clearance racks, as if winter was long gone.
This may be fine for Florida, but I live in Massachusetts. Today, the high temperature was 28 degrees. And I needed a new pair of winter gloves.
With low expectations, I went back to Target (hey, it is a mile from my house) to see if I could find winter gloves. Against all odds, I did find them. Two pairs of fleece gloves in between racks of kicky springtime pocketbooks and just down the aisle from all the flip-flops.
The other thing I noticed today was the huge amount of Easter stuff on display in the store. Who are you people buying Easter things in February? Please stop. Please stop now. Maybe if no one bought any of this stuff so early, the retailers would stop putting it out two or three months ahead of time. I’m not ready to think about Easter now, just like I was not ready to think about Valentine’s Day in December, or Christmas in September, or Halloween in August.
I’m aging quickly enough. Could we stop fast-forwarding the years?
Christina is a married, homeschooling, part-time working mom to three children in Southeastern Massachusetts. She's funnier on Twitter than in real life, unless she's had a drink. You can email her directly at fairlyoddmother@inbox.com.
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