MONEY CULTURE

RS and I have been arguing a lot lately about money. I know, how cliche is that? Why can't we argue about dental floss or industrial cranes? In a nut shell, RS is more live in the moment when it comes to money, while I have always been more inclined to dig a little hole in the ground like a squirrel, and cache my cash. Even when I was seven I saved all the lucky money my mother's relatives bestowed upon my brother and I. Pit Pat would rip into it immediately, spending it on video games and miles of bubble tape. But I would carefully open one end of each shiny red envelope, peek at the crisp green contents, smile and then put it away. Don't get the wrong idea, I would never just sit on my savings like a miser. Rather I would accumulate it and then spend it on Christmas gifts for my family and my pet hamster or buy some really special, thought out thing for myself. I guess the point is, I always had some. I always made sure I had some.

So here's the thing with RS: We decided to take a three week vacation together in August. When we left he had no job and less than a grand in the bank (he insists he told me, but I don't remember). When we returned home he was broke. When we summed up our holiday expenses, I found that I spent some $300 more than he did, which is fine because I can afford it, but then he told me that he couldn't pay me the $350 for the plane fare and began to wince when I asked him if he could go grocery shopping for us. A week later, he said he might not even be able to make next months rent. I have the means to buffer this difference comfortably, but it has made me very uneasy in that whole, what-could-this-possibly-indicate-about-our-future kind of way. I love RS. I wish to spend the rest of my days with him. I guess I'm just a little shocked to find that I live with a thirty-one year old man who does not know how to manage his means. And I'm content living modestly. I'm not asking for fast cars or designer shoelaces. I don't even care if I end up making more money than he does. I just don't wan to be the primary bread winner. I don't want to be the bitter, seething work horse that is my father.