The Miser

Recently I drove some of my students to the music store. As I pulled out in front of another car I heard the usual screams of terror from the back seat. I chalked it up to inexperienced passengers – until I realized the screams were ones of delight.

"Ms. Hamrick!" one student shouted over the roar of the engine, "Did you get your car souped-up?"

I racked my brain for kid-lingo. Souped-up? What could that possibly mean?

"The noise," he shouted. "Your car is really cool!"

I didn't have the heart to tell him the exhaust had fallen out.

Yes, that's me: The Miser. I would rather breathe exhaust fumes than pay to get them contained. I would rather leave the heat on 55 than pay to stay warm. And more recently, I would rather diet than pay the
current price of groceries.

The diet thing works for me, but I am married to Mr. Metabolism. He burns more calories in 2 minutes of sitting at his desk than I burn in 30 minutes on my bike. (Perhaps it would help if I moved while I was on the bike. I thought that's why they called it my stationary bike – but apparently I'm not the one who's supposed to stay stationary.)

"Honey," Mr. Metabolism said last night, "I am hungry."

"I don't understand," I said. "We had 3 pieces of lettuce for dinner."

"Rephrase that," he said. "We shared 3 pieces of lettuce."

"But there was dressing," I said. "Do you know how much dressing costs these days?"

I found him rummaging through the neighbor's trash after midnight.

It's been hard on us, this saving money thing. But I'm pretty sure we've saved up enough to pay our heating bill, buy some groceries, and most importantly – get my car fixed.

The only question is – will my students still think I'm cool?