The Admiral asked if I wanted to run some errands with her. Such an invitation requires negotiation. I have learned from vast, past experience, to ask the question, “Does this involve shopping?”

If the answer is anything like, “I need to stop by (fill in the store name here) for a few things,” I know that if I go, it will be for at least two hours. One hour is to run the errands, and one more hour to acquire the “few things,” that will cost close to the Gross National Product of some countries. On this particular occasion, there was no shopping involved, just a trip to the bank and for me to go to the auto parts store to, “Pick up a few things.”

On the way to the bank, I asked why we had to go. The Admiral replied, “I need to transfer funds from one account to another.”

“We have more than one account?” I asked.

She shook her head, exhaled audibly, and replied, “Yes.” I made no further inquiry.

I do not control the purse strings in the family. I am the worst money manager ever allowed to draw breath on this earth. It has always been that way, and at this late stage of my life, I don’t hold out much hope of change.

As a boy when I drew a quarter a week for allowance on Fridays, the moment I had it, I was off to spend it. On a Saturday excursion to town, in the company of my father, I was thinking of at least 20 ways to spend my quarter. We visited a hobby shop where I found a plastic model of a flying saucer that cost $.99. I had to have it, and begged Dad to buy it for me with the plea of, and these words would mark my life, “I’ll pay you back.”

A teaching moment had arisen. My father refused to front me the money, suggesting that I save my allowance and buy it without going into debt. I could not see his logic. I wanted it now, not in another three weeks.

I acquiesced. A month is a long time, but to a boy of 6, it is forever. I do not remember a month of my life that was longer. When the day came, I was ready for my model, and Dad was so proud of me. We drove to the store, where I bought it among praise of the store’s owner who witnessed the original negotiation, and the beaming pride of my father.

The transaction done, the words of encouragement ceased, and I stunned both of the men by asking, “Dad, will you loan me the money to buy paint for it?” I had not learned a thing. That is not true. I had learned that I hate saving. I am almost certain that that is the only thing I ever saved for in my life.

The Admiral is fond of telling folks that if I made a million dollars a week and got paid on Friday, that by Wednesday, I’d be borrowing money from someone to make it to payday. It is true.

My salvation is that I married the Admiral, the best money manager on the earth. It is only fair since I am the worst. I do not understand how, but she can take a dollar and spend it twice. Money in my hands is worth 50-cents-on-the-dollar. If it were not for her, I would have nothing but crushing debt.

I wonder how many bank accounts and credit cards we have. I am allowed access to one account and two cards, and truly, that is fine by me. Sometimes I feel a little emasculated, but as I look out the window of my beautiful, warm, well-lighted home, not the flap of a tent lighted by candles and heated by a wood stove, I am grateful to her, almost grateful enough to not complain about going shopping. I am grateful, but not stupid.

David Wilson Atwood is a local writer whose human-interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted at: www.starchasers.us.