What's It Worth to Ya?

I often repeat and sometimes reflect on thrifty colloquialisms I heard growing up. A couple of them came from my grandma via Mom--"He has more dollars than he has sense" and "It's good to want." But if you ever told my parents how much something was "worth," they would respond with something along the lines of, "Well, you gotta find someone who is willing to pay that much for it."

Like beauty, worth is sometimes in the eye of the beholder. Husband can't possibly understand why I am willing, eager even, to pay money to waste time at a sit-down restaurant. I can't comprehend how anyone could pay money to amass the amount of muscular, sculpted, articulated hunks of plastic painted in primary colors and populating multiple cardboard boxes that hog our limited living space. While he finds absolutely no pleasure in slowing down and savoring food, I get heart palpitations when I have to slow down on shopping errands to inspect the artfulness (albeit mass produced) found in the toy aisle.

This evening I engaged in another ritual he doesn't understand--but that's ok, because he's out looking at plastic man-dolls. A weekend evening + house to myself = Christmas come early. I was supposed to go home tonight. But because of scheduling conflicts, I wasn't ready to leave last night. And if I"m not ready to leave on a Thursday evening, I'm not going home until Saturday morning.

One of my favorite things to do on evenings like this is to stop by the grocery store and spend a lot of money on fancy food. I did keep it under control tonight though--less than $20--and incorporate some ingredients I already had at home. I had some of my favorite things for dinner: Smoked Salmon on Wasa with Laughing Cow, cucumber, red pepper, green onion and tapanade with some white wine my parents gave me. A three course dessert followed: dried figs and feta; Christmas cookies; and my Christmas bonus (three fancy chocolates--I accidentally squashed one on the way home.)

All this was accompanied by trashy tv on my computer (Thanks, Bravo, for the Real Housewives, but I don't think I can handle them anymore.) and a magazine.

There are a couple of magazines that I always am tempted to buy at the check-out line: Real Simple and In Style. Why do they appeal to me? I have no idea. They are both just ways to shill stuff--I'm not talking about the ads either. I mean, I have an adequate citrus juicer that I hardly ever use. I don't need a $67 stainless-steel one, no matter how artful you say it is. Besides, it's good to want.

This month, however, Real Simple's cover promised to help me "be happier" in 2011. I gave into temptation. And I must say, $25 for a nice, low-key evening alone, with leftover food and leftover articles to read? While it may prove that I have more dollars than I have sense, I'll claim temporary insanity. I'm the person who, on occasion, will pay that much for a quiet, solitary floor picnic. To me, it's worth it.