Today I wanted another latte on the way into work. It's the day after my birthday (which is the excuse to spending money the day after your birthday.) I was tired and blah. I needed a latte. Usually, you can say you need something, and people don't question your word choice. They just believe you, and say, Well if you need a latte just get a latte. It's only $4.
So I needed a latte, but I had already gotten one today. (It was the morning after my birthday, after all.) I saw a $5 bill on my dresser and thought: Oh good a five. In my mind, cash is like this free-for-all, like it doesn't matter because it's not on the permanent record of your bank account. You don't want to see "Starbucks" listed forty times on your bill, but if you find a ten in your laundry, nobody's gotta know.
Cash is like confetti in my life, falling out of my pockets, found in other pockets, crumbled up in my purse, shoved willy-nilly into a wallet, uncounted. No wonder money leaves me. I treat it like it's worthless.
Even though the purchase wouldn't show up on my bank statement, I knew I'd have to put it on my Twitter, as I have taken a solemn vow to do. I also know my best friends are reading this, the girls who have had to hear about my money problems since we were scooping ice cream for a living at age 14. In short, this blog experiment is working, because I didn't spend the $4. Hooray public shame.
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