How I Became A Miser

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When we were engaged to be married, back in the halcyon days of early 2001, my husband and I participated in an elaborate mating ritual that has taken hold deep within American culture. We registered for gifts. Daily cutlery, heavy silver forks, All-Clad pots in several different sizes, formal china for all those state dinners we would be serving, gravy boats, nesting mixing bowls and a much-longed-for salad spinner that retailed for $25.99. Among this orgy of conspicuous consumption was a set of everyday dinnerware from Villeroy and Boch. We were, we thought, the height of elegance with our matching set of twelve large dishes, eight smaller plates for salad and chocolate cake, and eight bowls that we included even though they seemed far too small for cereal, all decorated with teal leaves scattered about with calculated randomness.

“If we ever get tired of them, we can replace them down the road,” Jacob reasoned. I agreed, drugged as I was with the first flush of love.

Well, the love affair has ended. Not with the husband, who I still adore, but with those gleaming new dishes. The absurdly small bowls are chipped along the edges and those teal leaves have long since lost their appeal. I fantasize regularly about an eclectic mix of pottery, crafted by local artists in their studios and then casually assembled in our cabinets. I secretly troll Etsy, wondering if six different sets of dinner plates for two would be difficult to stack. At night, I dream of craft fairs.

“Just replace the damned dishes,” my husband mumbles as he wanders past me at the computer, drooling over a set of six handmade bowls.

“We can’t replace the dishes,” I reply. “They still work just fine.”

“But you hate them. I hate them. They’re ugly. And a few new dishes just aren’t that expensive.”

I sigh and look up at him. Really, he must know what I am about to say, since I’ve said it myriad times before in untold numbers of conversations about everything from cell phones to mops.

“It’s not about the money,” I tell him. Of course, he knows that. It’s never about the money with me.

For me, it’s all about the environment.