Crapola. Crass you say? Even a bit vulgar? Definitely not the sort of word that comes out of a true lady's mouth. But it's the word that this lady uses when she's thrust into dire straits, and I'm not talking about the band here, chicas. Nothing sends me there quicker than taking a little looksy at my bank account balance. "Negative 13 cents?" How can this be? I jump up from the computer and run over to my desk calender. "13 and a half days until my next allowance? What the crapola!" You feelin' me?
Now mi Amor wised up to my budgetinglessness (made up word for can't budget...ever) skills about two years ago. He kindly suggested that I try using my own bank account. I agreed and have yet to stick to my biweekly allowance. It's so embarrassing when I have to confess to him, almost D-A-I-L-Y, that I had to make another transfer. I always cross my heart and hope die, promising him that I'll be better. I even started keeping track of what I spent in a little notebook. But after a couple of days, that got kind of hard and oldish. The truth is, I don't want to worry about it. I want to buy whatever, whenever. I don't want to write it down. I don't want comparison shop. And I don't want to think about the consequences of not doing the aforementioned.
I hope mi madre isn't reading this post because she taught me better than that. She's the kind of chica who keeps vigilant track of what she spends. As a girl, I remember looking through her checkbook register to see if she had purchased a certain Christmas present for me. I knew that if she'd purchased it, I'd find it there, perfectly recorded: date, store, amount spent. Yep. I found it. Her account was never negative. If she didn't have enough money, she'd hold off spending until she did. Maybe it was easier to save back then. Maybe she didn't give a care that all of her friends were out buying the new latest and greatest. Or maybe she just had a little good ol' self control.
This chica could use a little dose of that. So starting today, I promise to live within my means. No more transfers, and I mean it this time. When I get that little flirty Nordstrom Rack sale email, I'll just delete it. When I get my new Domino magazine, I'll enjoy the pictures and be glad that I don't have to redecorate anything right now. And when I don't feel like making dinner, I'll make it anyway. Then at night, before I go to bed, I'll check my bank account to see how I did. It will have a positive balance, and I'll thank the heavens above that tonight I won't fall asleep with visions of crapola running through my head.