The Price is Right?

I used to go through money like I was trying to outspend Nicolas Cage. Well, on a much smaller scale. And without the collection of shrunken heads and the Bavarian castle, but still. A two week trip to Italy for a cooking course. A handcrafted silver ring. A trip to New York just to see a movie. These days, thanks to my house, my spending is decidely more practical: I bought switch plates this weekend. But even with my mortgage-dictated frugality, I still have my frivolous moments. We all have them; things we'll spend a lot of money on, and things for which we refuse to pay more than the bare minimum. It might not be as unique as a fingerprint, but I think it says something about a person. Worth it or not? You decide.

I'll buy books I really want to read in hardcover; none of this waiting for the paperback or borrowing from a friend. However, I refuse to spring for hardcover thrillers, mysteries, and page-turners. Here's my logic: I read them fast, thus lessening the total hours of enjoyment I'm getting, I'll never read them again once I know who done it, and Dan Brown doesn't need the money. But first novels, or new books by writers I love - I'll happily hand over my Visa.

I'll pay a fair bit for skincare, but not for shampoo. I have two-inch long hair; how much damage can I do to it? But I have good skin and, at this point, who knows if it's genetics or L'Oreal? What if I stop using eye cream and wake up next week looking like Keith Richards? That's not a chance I'm willing to take.

I love cheese. I'd rather spend time in a fromagerie than a perfumerie. But there's home alone cheese and there's company's coming cheese. The really primo stuff, the $12 for a piece the size of my palm (and I have small hands), likely made from the milk of Alsatian albino sheep, is reserved for company. Unless it's the very limited edition, holiday season white Stilton with apricots; I will cut a bitch who gets between me and the cheese counter for the last piece of that deliciousness.

Food in general is a hard one, because I like everything. Certain things - peanut butter, orange juice, jam, and bananas - I will buy regardless of the price. But red peppers, salmon, ice cream? Sorry - not on sale means no sale. I've aborted entire stir-fries over the cost of red peppers. And I make an awesome stir fry. I don't care what my mother says; green ones do not taste practically the same.

I'm split when it comes to bubbles. I own a jar of bath cream that cost me nearly $60, but it feels like immersing yourself in a cloud. An almond and coconut milk scented cloud. However, I'm perfectly happy to drink $12 sparkling wine instead of "real" champagne. I think this might make me a floozy. A soft-skinned, almond and coconut milk scented floozy, mind you, but a floozy nonetheless.

I'll pay for sex. Or at least the promise of it. And before you call the vice squad, I mean by visiting men I've had relationships with over the years, not a getaway to Thailand. I think the most expensive bang for my buck, so to speak, was probably around $500*, but luckily he provided the food and wine, so it was like an all-inclusive. A dirty, dirty, all-inclusive.
*Fuel surcharge included; post-trip therapy extra.

I won't pay much for an every day handbag, but I own evening bags I use maybe once a year that cost easily twice what my everyday ones do. Same with shoes. I realize this makes no sense, yet I am at a complete loss to explain it. I can't even blame stupidity, since I understand the "cost per wear" concept, and I'm really good at math.

Even though I'm a huge fan of furniture design, I refuse to spring for really high-end home goods. The people who say it's worth the money because it'll last haven't met Tallulah. However, I've discovered an ingenious solution. When friends ask me for recommendations, I steer them towards something I'd love to own but can't justify. Gorgeous wine cabinet from one of my favourite stores? A very good friend asked my advice, I gave it, and then proceeded to fawn over the pictures he sent when he got it. Guilt-free shopping. It was like the furniture-purchasing equivalent of calorie-free cake.

Jelly Beans. I take care of stockings for my parents at Christmas, and my mother loves Jelly Belly jelly beans. So one year I thought I'd throw in a scooped-to-order cone of them. Pricing was per 100 grams. Let this be a lesson to you - if they're pricing something per 100 grams, it's because no one, ever, in the history of weights and measures, has eaten just 100 grams of it. $14 worth of the little fuckers. I nearly passed out at the cash register.

So to sum up, I'm apparently willing to pay a little extra to be a well-read, cheese-eating, wrinkle-free sex tourist, but not willing to cough up the coin that would make me a glossy-haired champagne-drinker in practical footwear. Yup - sounds about right.