Perhaps it started with the never-ending arguments between my divorced parents. Or maybe it happened because of shopping in a grocery store with a calculator when I was young. And perhaps it's reinforced now as I'm still paying off student loans having graduated from college more than a decade ago.
I hate money. It stresses me out. When I don't have much, it's stressful. When I have quite a bit, I'm scared to spend it. I suppose money really does make the world go 'round but mostly it just makes my head spin.
And it's especially stressful in PolyVille. Who pays for things? Who paid last time and does that mean the other person should pay this time? Do you factor in gas required to travel to each other's homes? Do home-cooked meals count? What about bar tabs?
Edward and I share our money and this is the scenario least likely to provoke a cranial explosion. We do not have separate bank accounts (much to the horror of my mother and several of my friends) but I like it this way. Nobody "pays" for anything because it's our money.
With Stuart, it's much more like a conventional dating situation. We do not share bank accounts and Stuart has told me in no uncertain terms that he's not interested in doing that. He thinks I will judge him because of his frivolous purchases of flashy bunny ears or a toy that projects stars onto the wall. And yes, I totally judge him but that happens whether my name is on the account or not. Logistically, I'm not really sure how we'd do that even if everyone was on board.
Earlier in our relationship, we split it very evenly and alternated paying. Intellectually, I didn't have an issue with it, but emotionally, it really sucked the romance out of things. Why? Because I'm a girl and although I duly recognize that I am in charge of my own orgasm, I still like to be taken out. I enjoy the bennies that come with being a girl especially in light of having to take my boobs with me absolutely everywhere (which is kind of ridiculous) and having been the default President of my Womb. I've steadfastly maintained the Keep Out sign there for years... I think that merits a steak dinner now and then.
When the three of us go out, I usually let the guys decide who will pay. This pleases me greatly because I don't have to make a decision. It means I don't have numbers running through my math-phobic brain nor do I have the blurry totals from recent purchases darting in and out of my consciousness.
As much as I try not to think about it, there is this running total in my brain. I can't help it. It's not that I want to keep track of per-relationship expenses. I'd really rather not. But it probably stems from the fear that the most recent purchase will be why I'm humbly accepting my free bowl of soup and there's a homeless man licking my shoe. The irrational part of my brain is saying "Yes, now if you hadn't had that $8 margarita, you'd still be sleeping in your own bed instead of this cot with tablecloths for sheets."
It's yet another of my neuroses that requires a lasso and a proper shot of tequila. Check, please.
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