I'm cheap

I'm cheap. No, not like that. I mean I'm a skin-flint. A tight-wad (I think I prefer 'cheap' to that expression :p) A good Scot, perhaps, since that is (apparently) a part of my heritage.

But I'm by no means a miser or selfish. My cheapness is for the most part on the simple pleasures -- chocolates, sweets, junk food. Frankly, I don't like them that much anyway, so it's not too much of a sacrifice. But I'm trying to save for that house I will surely buy someday. Perhaps I'm doing penance for my carefree youth when I earnt many tens of thousands of dollars at Safeway and had little more to show for it than a few shares in the company.

The amusing part of this diatribe is the bill. Whenever I go out to lunch or dinner with Mark or James, a game of high stakes is played. Towards the end of the meal tension fills the air. Eyes are peeled, watching for any suspicious move. One person mutters something about the toilet and disappears, only to have the other two jump up moments later in protest as the first is seen finishing his transaction with the cashier -- the bill has been paid!

This process scares the tar out of my mum. One time we were out to dinner with a few good friends (and a couple of people I didn't really know) and I quietly made my way to the cashier. The move was so much easier for Mark and James not being there. Mum was aghast to discover that I had paid for everyone. I just chuckled quietly to myself and chalked up one more victory in 'the game'.

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