The other day my boyfriend and I were having our typical argument about moving in together. After two and a half years of long distance, we are both ready to take the plunge. Our bank accounts, on the other hand, are in desperate need of some rehab. He is bogged down with paying for student loans, a car payment, health benefits and gas (driving back and forth to see me, of course). I don’t have a fraction of his expenses but I just can’t seem to save a penny. He told me to estimate what I earn in a year after taxes. I’ll spare you the number. Then, get this, he told me to count how many pairs of shoes I bought this past year. I started to laugh.
You can’t be serious, I said. He was. Dead serious. Fine. I slowly and meticulously reviewed all three shoe-racks in my room, smiling to myself over my impressive collection. About 40 new pairs of shoes, I reported. Then he told me to estimate the cost of each pair. I’ll spare you that number as well. He broke out a calculator and after some serious number crunching came to this conclusion: I spent 10% of my annual income this past year on shoes. So I told him to estimate how much money he lost playing cards this past year. Game over.