This year, I have a resolution. Make that: this year, my husband has determined that he and I will have a resolution.
We are going to live on a budget.
This is not something we have done in the past - or, at least, done well. In years past, if we wanted to go out for dinner, we went out for dinner first, and consulted the Visa later. But no longer, says the husband, who has been blitzing for a budget for a good long time. From now on, says the husband, we will do what "sensible" people do. We will make a chart.
"Okay," said the husband the other day. "This is going to be fun!"
He unfurled a piece of Bristol board. He pulled out some magic markers. He was smiling. It was clear he was feeling "sensible."
"So!" he said. "Let's start out with the food part of the budget! What do you think we spend on food every month? Two hundred? Three?"
The husband does not do the grocery shopping.
"That depends," I said, "on whether one son happens to be home from school, or whether both happen to be home from school, or whether it's just us."
"Gotcha!" said the husband. "So if there's just the two of us, what do you think? One-fifty? One-seventy five?"
I looked at my sensible man, and shook my head.
"More," I said. "Fair enough," he said. "Let's put the food thing on hold for a moment. What do we spend on heating every month? Just a ballpark figure would be good. Thirty dollars?"
The husband does not pay the hydro bill, just as the husband does not pay the telephone bill or the cable bill.
"More," I said. The husband nodded, and began to look a little less cheerful.
"Okay," he said. "Let's put hydro on the back burner for now. Let's tackle this category instead. I'm calling it miscellaneous.
We wouldn't have much to put in miscellaneous, would we? I mean, beyond gum and stuff?"
He pulled the top off the green pen, also known as the miscellaneous magic marker.
"Oh," I said, "there'd be more than gum. Let's see - off the top of my head, I would also put dry-cleaning costs, stationery costs, birthday-present costs, Starbucks costs, fitnesscentre costs, book-store costs and computer-repair costs. Oh, and bus fare. And golf course dues."
The husband continued to nod - and wiped the moisture from his brow.
He put the lid on his magic marker.
The Bristol board glared at us. The big and empty Bristol board.
"Tell you what," I said. "When we go out for dinner next time, why don't we pay by cash instead of Visa?"
The husband nodded. It's not what you'd call a budget. But it's what you'd call a start.
