If We “Can’t Take It With Us,” Why Are Some Of Us So Tight-Fisted?

On my way out, I don’t want to regret the sofa we needed but I was too damned cheap to buy

Off the bat, this story probably won’t appeal to the more affluent here or the younger set to whom “mortality” is but a blip on their radar. If that.

No. This is for people like myself, who, after a certain age, are living on a fixed income. Due to retirement, or the inability to find a fucking gig in one’s field.

At the end of December, my husband retired from his position as Senior Editor of two publications geared to the manufacturing industry. He’s worked all his life, including twenty-five-plus years at this company, and deserves a break from the grind. I fully support his decision even as I wonder, “now what?”

As for me, I was involuntarily retired in 2018 when I was laid off from my position of Associate Creative Director at a marketing and advertising behemoth. Since then, I can count on one hand the number of freelance writing gigs that have come my way, even though I’ve applied for a shit-ton over the past three years.

For some reason, hiring managers and recruiters, who I find to be some of the most clueless individuals I’ve ever encountered, can’t grasp the reality that someone in their late sixties can still kick ass. I keep telling myself that this is their loss, but that sentiment does nothing for our bank account.

Here, on Medium, I should be taking in a hell of a lot more than I am considering the number of followers and subscribers that I glean on a daily basis. And, I’m thankful for this. But, is Medium? I do receive the “your audience is growing” emails, but, that doesn’t translate to my earnings. Not much growth there. Yet, ever more frequently, we hear from the squirts on this platform who gleefully brag about their paydays. And still, from all the endless bloviating about algorithms, I’ll never get it.

It appears that writing has little to do with one’s humanity, how one views the world, and everything to do with read-times and ratios and other ridiculously important minutiae that I find incredibly snooze-inducing.

Could this be why I’m a flop? Perhaps I need to spend more time learning how to “work it,” and less time frying my brain in an attempt to conjure up stories that will engage my readers.

Unfortunately, the lack of acknowledgment in the form of actual Benjamins has resulted in my becoming somewhat tight-fisted. And I don’t like it. In fact, I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while. Wondering why the everloving F, I hate to part with any real money.

Oh, I have no problem buying a twelve-dollar body wash or the jumbo-size jug of Jim Beam, but the big-ticket items set me to clutching my fake pearls and mumbling my mantra that “we can wait.”

But maybe, we can’t wait.

Here’s an example. We’ve lived in our home, which was built in the seventies, for well over twenty years. And the shit is starting to go south, people.

We have an electric oven in our family room that’s set into a brick hearth — one side of our double-sided fireplace. It hasn’t roasted, baked, or braised correctly in years, which may be the reason I’m a hit or miss cook. The broiler element works fine, yet I rarely broil. Too, the oven isn’t a standard size so I imagine that will impact the cost of a replacement.

And there’s the problem, right there. My “imaginings.” All I have to do is go to a Home Depot or appliance store and find out what the fuck the thing will cost. But I don’t. I make do.

Our heavy-duty Kenmore washer and dryer have served us for well over thirty years if you can believe that. We bought the set from my sister when we were still living in a three-flat in Chicago. Since then, she’s had to replace her own combo at least three times. So, we’re talking quality items.

Now, there have been signs of “issues.” Leaking and the like. But again, rather than replace them with a brand new, energy-efficient washer and dryer, yes folks, I make do.

And I have a paid-off Sears card gathering dust in a drawer. If I wanted to go that route. WTF??

We’re also furniture-challenged. For years, we had a large sectional sofa in the “way back” of our huge finished basement. We never sat on it so out the door it went.

The sofa in our living room was purchased without a lot of forethought and wasn’t very comfortable, so out the door it went. We still haven’t replaced it, but we talk about it. A lot.

To be fair, my husband isn’t the cheapo here. It’s me. And I need to figure out why I’m so fearful of parting with money. Although we’re not “well off,” neither are we “bad off,” like some unfortunate folks.

We have some savings and my 401k that at this point in our lives, we should probably be living off of, but that scares the crap out of me.

I’ve been very open about my dislike of the whole aging process and maybe that’s what’s going on here. My mortality smacking me upside the head and whispering, “how much time do you think you have, you jerkoff? What are you holding on to, and why?”

Even when I try to persuade myself that a new oven would make cooking and entertaining, if we ever get back to that, a hell of a lot more palatable, my sphincter tightens up like a fist. A tight fist.

I get the same reaction when I gaze at the large gap in our living room where the sofa used to be and imagine burrowing in and reading in front of a cozy fire. The stone side. Brick in the family room, stone in the living room.

What a waste.

Do any of you share my situation? And conversely, for those of you who have the sense to acknowledge that “you can’t take it with you,” how do you remain financially solvent while affording yourselves the occasional indulgence? Although a properly-working stove is a necessity, as opposed to a Margarita-drenched stay at an all-inclusive Mexican resort.

Since most of us have no clue how much time we have left, other than an educated guess, this is a conundrum that I imagine many of my peers need to address.

I welcome your feedback because I don’t want my last coherent thought to be, “why the fuck didn’t I buy that sofa?” followed by a fart, and lights out.

That just can’t be.

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Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.

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