Dave, the Budget

I know my last entry painted an unflattering picture of Dave.  It took me a long time to figure out why I was so unhappy in my marriage.  Dave, despite the things I’ve shared, really was a good man.  Neither of us had a clue what a good husband looked like.  He didn’t drink, hit me, or cheat on me.  He was so handsome and he had a job that paid above minimum wage.  What more could I want?  

Dave’s Budget.  Dave had a 3 x 5 spiral notepad that he kept in his shirt pocket.  On that pad, he’d budget where every single penny he made was to go.  If he wanted to meet up with his brother or a friend for what they called a “Big Gulp Run,” he’d have to take out his notepad and rearrange the budget to make sure he had that $0.73 for the Big Gulp.  Up to this point, we still had separate accounts, and I had no idea how fixated he was on our finances.

The house we’d bought was through a HUD financing program called “Farm Home.”  What we didn’t know for the first year, is that our payments were subsidized based on our income.  After the first year, we had to submit income documentation and were told that our house payment would be nearly cut in half due to the subsidy.

Dave immediately began shopping for a new vehicle.  We bought a brand new 1991 Geo Metro.  It was only $4999 brand new.  Our payments would be $99 per month.  We had driven to Roseville to buy the car, so about a 45-minute drive from home.  After we’d bought it, we headed home.  We drove in separate cars – me in my old beater, and him in the new Geo.  By the time we got home, Dave had an announcement for me.  “My truck is much newer than your car, and you’re going to be commuting to Chico State soon, so I think this car should be yours.”

I was floored.  I thought the Geo Metros were adorable, and ours was bright red, my favorite color.  It was a manual transmission, though, and I did not know how to drive one, yet.  In the next few days, Dave took me out to teach me how to drive a stick.  His idea of teaching was to yell at me over and over about every little detail.  I got frustrated and drove straight home.  I pulled in front of our house and told him to get out.  After that, I drove away.  We lived in a rural enough area that I could practice without encountering much traffic.  I drove around for an hour or so, and when I felt I’d gotten the rhythm of driving a stick, I went home.

We showed off the car to some friends and family.  Dave bragged that he’d gotten it for me to go to school.  I let him, even though the truth was that he’d bought it for himself and then had an attack of conscience on the way home from the purchase.

One day I came home from school and found him sitting on the sofa with papers spread out on the coffee table.  He looked like a wild man.  He looked at me and said, “I don’t know what I was thinking!  We can’t afford this!  What if our house payment goes back up next year?  We’re taking that car back”

That probably would have been the sensible thing to do, but I was 20 and my pride was at stake.  How embarrassing that I was going to have to explain to people that my husband bought me a car and then sent it back for a refund (which, I doubt would even have been possible).

Dave ranted for a while, and I finally snapped.  I said, “we’re not taking my car back!”

“Oh, we’re not?” Dave asked sarcastically.

I said, “No!  We’re not!” and then I made one of the biggest mistakes of my married life.  I suggested that we get a joint bank account.  We’d combine our funds, and between the two of us, we could make it work.

Dave gaped at me.  “You’d do that for me?”

I said, “I’d do that for us.”  And that was the last time I ever had any money to my name.  He wanted me to give him my debit card so that I couldn’t accidentally spend money.  I refused, but I never spent money without permission.  Every payday, I’d get $20 for gas and groceries.  It was a Geo, after all, so $5 in gas would get me through a whole week.  The other $15 was supposed to get him a 2-liter of Diet Pepsi, a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, and whatever else I could afford to feed us through the week.

I no longer had money to take my little sisters to AM/PM for an ice cream cone.  I couldn’t afford the gas, and I didn’t have the spare change.  One time, I remember pulling laundry out of the dryer and seeing a 50 cent piece down in the lint trap.  I nearly tipped the dryer over, trying to get it out of there.  I succeeded with a coat hanger and some duct tape.  Then I went to the mini market across the street from our house and bought myself a slushie in a reusable cup.

Dave’s dad and step-mother pulled me aside, one day, and told me that I needed to tell Dave to loosen the purse strings.  They told me that it was apparent from the way I dressed that he had more money than I did.  I knew they were trying to help, but that just made me feel awful.  I was already self-conscious about the weight I’d gained.  Now I felt like a slob on top of everything else.  I was falling into depression, but I didn’t know it.  Depression and anxiety weren’t discussed as freely and openly as they are now, and we didn’t have the Internet, yet, to look things up.

Then I graduated from community college and transferred to University.