Male Quirks and Female Foibles

A Skinflint By Any Other Name

I have heard down-home philosophy ridiculed as unsophisticated, but I hope that the American language never becomes so cultured that we make communication anemic and uninteresting, a pallid shadow void of colorful phraseology. Not only do quaint sayings add life to speech; they allow us to poke fun at one another's foibles without grave insult.

My husband, Wayne, is known for his frugality. At points in his past some might have said he was downright stingy. But using such a strong word with its negative connotation tends to make him defensive and less likely to examine his proclivity to be tight. Luckily, homespun philosophy allows one to get the message across in a way that appeals to Wayne's sense of humor and, as applied over the years, has helped to ease his death grip on the wallet.

I am certain that most of us have heard the expression, "He is so tight he squeaks when he walks." But have you heard the Texas idiom, "He's tighter than the bark on a tree." Then there's the maxim that applies to a real scrooge; "You can't squeeze blood from a turnip."

Fortunately, the final expression never quite applied to Wayne. He was ne'er so stingy that he would not part with a nickel, but there was a time when you did not want to ask him to relinquish a dollar.

When Wayne and I were at New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary in the late 1970's, we decided to go out to dinner at a nice restaurant to celebrate an anniversary. I'm not sure which one, but it was probably about number five or six.

Up until that point, fine dining for us was a hamburger at "Bud's Broiler." That was a sit-down hamburger joint popular with the student crowd – partially because of its affordable prices.

Well, for our anniversary, Wayne took me to a restaurant that required a reservation. We dressed up for the occasion and drove to the bistro. I do not even remember the name of the establishment. What I do remember is how painful the experience was for my skinflint husband.

We were seated at a table with a linen table covering, cloth napkins and muted candle light. Our waitress took our drink orders, turning up her nose slightly when we scorned the wine and strong drink menu and ordered soda, leaving us to peruse the entree menu.

As Wayne peered at the menu in the dim lightening, I'm sure I heard him mutter that the purpose for the candlelight was so that one could not read the outlandish prices beside the entrees. He suggested we split a meal so as not to deplete our meager funds.

I reminded him that this was an anniversary celebration and refused to take part in his shameful scheme. Besides, Wayne and I rarely liked the same foods, and I was not about to limit my selection to the few we had in common.

He finally broke down and ordered something, but I think it took him several tries to get his selection past the obstruction in his throat. I ordered some kind of shish kabob, one of the entrees with the smaller price tags. The whole time that we waited for our food to arrive, he complained, saying that for those prices we should get a free appetizer and that the service was certainly slow considering what we were paying.

I know that he did not enjoy one bite of his meal because he was imagining the things he could have bought with the money he paid for his meal. He had a real problem with essentially 'eating money.' He was so miserable and I felt so sorry for him that I did not order desert for fear he would have a heart attack when presented with the bill.

He was horrified to find that the tip was actually figured into the bill at this pricey institution. He practically choked on his drink when he realized that he was going to be forced to pay a 10 percent tip, whether or not he appreciated the service.

Fortunately, over the years, Wayne has loosened up somewhat. Since his sons helped put themselves through college as waiters, he occasionally even leaves a 20 percent tip – but probably only if one of them are present and reminds him what waiters earn.

When we go out to eat, he no longer has to take deep breaths if the bill exceeds $10 per person, unless the whole family is home and then he figures we're better off ordering pizza. And you can be certain that whoever calls in the order knows to ask if there are any specials. We, of course, provide our own drinks.

For some people frugality evidently is built into their personality. Before I met Wayne, all of the people I knew who were miserly were raised during the depression. I thought penny-pinching was a result of experiencing economic hard times until I met Wayne, a guy raised in an upper middleclass family during a period of prosperity. As some of my redneck friends might say, "You can put your boots in the oven, but that don't make them biscuits."