I received another call yesterday from a financial planner who would love to help me take my vast riches and parlay them into a jewel-encrusted cave full of treasure chests. The only problem with that plan is my complete lack of vast riches, including the vast riches it takes to, say, pay more than the minimum on my bills.
Three years of inefficient self-employment left a big dent in my financial wherewithal, which I am now working valiantly to correct. I always thought that I lived pretty frugally to begin with, but now that all of my income is going directly to bills and food, I realize that I'd come to appreciate a few luxuries after all.
Rather than complain like the spoiled yuppie I am, my plan is to get together with my husband, finally make a spreadsheet to get a realistic budget put together, and see what we can actually do to get things put right. Even though my husband and I are the grasshopper and the ant, respectively, I think we can reach a compromise and at least take some of the mystery out of each other's financial situation.
In the meantime, I'll paint my own toenails ($25 savings, but no foot rub, darn it), put Flexall on my back when my muscles are sore ($80 savings over a deep-tissue massage, although much less therapeutic), find a cheaper hairdresser so I can stay blonde (I spent years in the nineties with a dark spot on the back of my head from dyeing my own hair - I'm not doing that again), and rely on Rodney Yee for exercise instruction each morning (at least until the VCR breaks). If all goes well, I'll be back to wasting money on cafe mochas and unnecessary pairs of shoes in no time!