Penny smart, dollar dumb

I spend like I'm in the last days of Rome, but in a way that's penny smart, dollar dumb. 

I'll pluck the store brand soap off the shelves at Wal-Mart but treat myself to a pair of Rothy's. Order Postmates when there's perfectly good food in the fridge.

My significant other — the Benjamin Wyatt to my Leslie Knope, the moon in my sky, yada yada —  is the opposite. 

He'll wrap himself in Excel sheets detailing our daily, monthly, annual budget and expenses. To him, there's nothing a pivot table can't fix. He'll buy a packet of Oreos and ration out a cookie a day like we're in post-war Britain. 

It's like I'm reliving my parent's dynamic to a fault. My mom, Marian, is the fierce saver, balancing her checkbook like we're living in 1990. Contrast that with my dad, Matt, the man who leans into his hobby du jour with financial gusto. Scuba diving? Motorcycling? He goes all: reads forums, buys books, and gets all the supplies one would need and not need.

I'm the clear the Matt in my marriage, but I don't think that's a bad thing. Every Matt needs a Marian to tilt the scales back towards measured responsibility, save for retirement, throw out some raised eyebrows here and there when looking at the credit statement. It doesn't mean they're not fun. Marians are all about saving up for joviality. My husband, the Marian in our marriage, will even save up two years in advance for the latest gaming console. YOLO!

But then I have to wonder if every Marian needs an enabler, the person with the twinkle in their eye, to say "go for it" and "you only live once, right?". 

You'll catch me dropping those phrases often — dressed smartly in my Rothy's.