View from the North 40: It's all fun and games with someone else's money

My personal frugality is legendary … if you can call using an old towel dangling from three strips of duct tape as a curtain over the window in the front door a legend, rather than low-class, uninspired, white-trash slothful chintziness.

Po-tay-doh. Po-tah-to.

I wear clothes for a few months past the point where they are fit only for the rag bag. And notice that I make them into rags, not just throw them away. I purchase used vehicles and drive them until they die of old age and exhaustion.

Even when I go out with my own husband, knowing full well that we have joint accounts for checking, savings, credit cards, movie rental and “11th one free” punch cards, I’ll still say, “hey, you got money?” … knowing full well, also, that I have money in my own purse or pocket.

His money, my money, it’s all our money. To-may-doh. To-mah-to.

Though, my husband, aka “easy money,” is the only one I stick with the bill, my friends know full-well the actual pitfall of hanging out with me: They will end up spending money — sometimes lots of money, on themselves — encouraged, added and abetted by me, while I spend not a cent.

Hey, they work hard, they deserve only the best for themselves, and if I can help facilitate the purchase of something pretty, like new horse tack, then my day has become complete.

I say I need something, maybe it’s even jeans, and two months or so later, longer if it takes them a while to get to the big city, and the next thing you know, they’re walking out of the store with a couple bags of clothes. And I got nothin’.

Beats me what happens. They’re big kids. They know their budgets. They can just say no.

I do it all the time.

It sounds like this: This pair is too short. I couldn’t hardly get my calf into those, let alone my ginormous hamstring. These don’t fit through the, yeah, this part. Those just aren’t me. That … yech. No, not those. Ever. Hey, look at these. I’ll bet they’d look great on you. Look, a matching shirt. Oi, look at the sale on the new riding boots. You could retire your old ones to chore boots and wear these for everyday. It’s logical. You need a vest? A belt? Socks? Mmm-kay. Looks like we’re good here.

Next thing you know, they’re carting loads of new stuff, and the only thing weighing me down is all the money I didn’t spend.

Unfortunately for my friends, it happens that way with horse shopping, too. I’m like: Well, I absolutely don’t need another horse; it doesn’t matter how nicely put together it is. What? It’s pretty AND it’s FREE? I’ll be right back with my trailer. No money spent.

But for them, I’m all: Yes, you’re right, $12,000 is a pretty steep price. Sure, sure, I know. You don’t want to insult them with a low-ball offer that you can afford. Maybe you can just call them up and feel them out on how low they would go. ... They’re down to $6,000 now? They'll take payments? That’s awesome! What do they want for the other one? What? They want to sell you the second one at the same price?! Whoa-ho-hoooo? How “all tapped out” can you be? Really. Too tapped out to make a dream come true? That's so depressing, and so not like you. Of course, if you get the second one, now — and you know you want her — the hauling fees will be cheaper.

I need to start working on commission. One can never have enough money to not spend.

(Ohrses. Horses. Don't call the whole thing off — go ahead and buy them both at [email protected].)