I can’t save money. I can’t even save half a slice of my favorite pie for the next day’s treat. I live in the moment, I think. I am self-indulgent and a real spendthrift. Be careful what you casually admire in my house. You’re likely to walk away with it regardless of whether you wanted it. Worse yet is the inability to purchase a present for Christmas (or for any other occasion) and keep it until the actual day arrives.
Boy tells me what he wants for Christmas or his birthday. I dutifully order whatever he puts in my shopping cart. The things start to arrive before Christmas. Boy lies in wait for them. Then it begins. I don’t know why I bother to argue with him about opening packages before Christmas. He asks every day whether a package came that day. He knows I won’t lie about it. In the end, by Christmas Day he’s already opened, and forgotten, most of the packages that arrived. One year, a few months after Christmas when he was trying to persuade me to buy something for him, he announced in his matter-of-fact way that I had not given him “anything for Christmas”. Never mind that I’d scraped together some fairly decent presents at the eleventh hour. So goes the life of a helpless Granny. What the heck? I might be dead by Father’s Day anyway.