Tue, Feb 12th - 5:13PM
“A make-up brush costs £30? Is it made of gold?” my
husband shouted and threw up both his hands when he was observing me logging my
He rolls his eyes and makes that huffing noise and
shakes his head at me. I have boxes of receipts, so you can imagine how many
theatrical displays he has been through.
His physical theatre and dance routine has to be seen to be believed. The
Ballet Rambert would take note of his expressive routines.
The man practically does a Gangnam style exasperated
jig every twenty seconds.
“£40 for a bra? Is it made of gold?” Yes he
mentioned gold again.
“Salon haircut £80?” he screeched. “Did they cut
your hair with gold scissors?”
I thought to myself: If he makes one more gold
reference I may have to strap a canoe onto my back and fake my own death.
Husband does not understand the costs of make up and
female maintenance. This is the man who audibly squealed like a girl at the
cost of a supermarket’s own-brand moisturiser:
“How can they charge £7 for a wee bottle that size?
What is in it? GOLD?”
Other female shoppers looked at me with pitying
glances, probably thankful their own annoying husbands didn’t bother to come
with them to buy face cream.
“Look - That pot is only £1 and it’s twice the
He grabbed a tub of Vaseline and tried to tempt me
with its moisturising properties. A frantic man shoving Vaseline into your face
in a supermarket aisle does tend to draw a crowd.
I looked warily at the tub and suggested where he
could shove it and I pointed out to him that it would go up there surprisingly
easy. The crowd smiled and followed us slowly, surely there would be more
purchase hilarity to follow?
He is such a tight-fisted scrooge when it comes to
He buys giant packs of cheap razors that leave my
legs with more cuts and rashes than a bramble picker who has just survived an
air crash that nose-dived into a nettle field.
His cheap, family sized bottles of gloopy green
shampoo have literally blinded me in the shower, overwhelmed me with their
apple scent and can make my hair look as if it’s been back-combed badly by an
Oh – and, by the way - according to husband, I
don’t need conditioner. This is a man who considers 'conditioner' a luxury item.
Has he seen my curly, tufty hair?
Without a decent conditioner, it takes three hours
to brush after the astringent shampoo has left my locks so squeaky clean. It’s
like trying to brush out a wet Shetland pony with a nit comb.
Hair maintenance isn’t the biggest issue with his
cheap buying tactics.
When rifling through my receipts, he was astounded
that I had managed to buy three jumpers in one shopping trip. Why would I need
three new tops? He was agog at my outlandish, extravagant lifestyle.
“I have had the same jumper since 1987,” he proudly
announced. “It’s still a good top and I wear it all the time.”
“Yes, I know,” I sniggered. “That’s why the local
kids call you Catweazle.”
He will only buy one pair of jeans, wear them, wash
them constantly and throw them away when they fall apart. Then he buys a new
pair for £7 in one of those giant cheap discount stores in Sauchiehall Street.
To him, men who wear designer clothes are either
incredibly vain or mentally challenged. No single item of his clothing costs
more than £10 maximum and he will shop around until he gets the price he wants.
That’s being clever in his head.
Husband isn’t one of those men who wears
‘Moisturiser for Men’ or other male grooming products.
I am not sure I would like the idea of my man going
for a facial or having a skin regime. Somehow that makes me feel queasy.
God forbid he took to stroking some clear mascara on
his eyelashes for a special night out! His spending habits are near to minimal…
unless you count his Pound Shop habit.
He adores the stores that do ‘Everything for a
Pound’. He is stockpiling cheap cups, doormats and giant sets of screwdrivers.
At least this leaves surplus cash for me to buy all
my mascara, clothes, shoes, hair brushes …all made of gold obviously.
So thanks for reading, if you want follow me on
twitter @JaneyGodley for updates.