The financial ramifications of a bad mood.

The other day, I ventured out of my cozy, semi-cool house to brave the sweltering heat of Macon in July. I know, I know -- that statement doesn't seem to represent a real exciting newsbreak. However, if you know me-in-the-summer, you also know that my leaving home is, in fact, a rare occasion. I like to fully enjoy my break from school, and for me that means sleeping late, keeping on my pajamas, watching Martha Stewart and Rachael Ray, reading a good book, and, well, not stepping foot out the door. At all. I could quite honestly go for the entirety of my two-month summer without a breath of fresh air except for the fact that I would end up drinking soured milk in my cereal and eating molded bread on my pb&j's.

Anyway, I digress. So I agreed to leave my comfort zone the other day and accompany Cal (he had taken the afternoon off) to his favorite summertime hangout, Targetworld. Macon's Target is in one of those huge shopping strips that include other great stores such as Ross, Marshall's, Old Navy, Dick's Sporting Goods (hee hee), Michael's, Best Buy, etc. When we go, we usually make a day of it. I, in the midst of my summer-long downtime, wasn't prepared.

After lunch at Margarita's and 2 1/2 hours of cinematic entertainment (The Dark Knight), we headed to Best Buy to look at cameras. I was prepared for this stop, as we had discussed it earlier in the day. When we were done, my hands --which had been gone from home for, at this time, four hours-- automatically started to turn the car towards our neighborhood.

Cal interjected. "Let's go to the GNC across the street." He's on a major "health jag", complete with herbal supplements and excess vitamins. I agreed, but wanted to sit in the car. "Come on in with me!" he encouraged, trying persistently to include me in his interests. I did, but felt the rumblings of a pout in the depths of my being.

GNC happens to be right next door to Target, so, of course, that was his next idea. I think he assumed that when we walked in and I was confronted with the flourescent lights, trendy bags, cute cheap clothes, and rather attractive house decor, I would be okay. It works normally, and I can entertain myself for hours there. Not today.

I stuck miserably close to his side as he wandered toward the unsalted almonds and dried fruit aisle. "Are we almost done?" I whined. He glanced my way and shrugged. "I'm thirsty." More whine.

"Here," he said, still very patiently. "I'll buy you a diet coke."

I pouted some more. If we were going home soon, there was no need to spend the money on a diet coke. I had two cases of them there. I was, you see, still hoping for the best. We bought the diet coke. Pout pout pout.

We left Target and headed towards Sam's. By this time, I was in top form.

Me (pout pout pout): "I can't go in Sam's with this diet coke. They'll think I stole it."
Him: "Just stick it in your purse like you always do."
Me (pout pout pout): "I'll just sit in the car."
Him (beginning to get aggravated): "It's 102 degrees out here. Just forget the diet coke."
Me (accelerated pout pout pout): "But we paid $1.50 for it!"
Him (fully exasperated now): "SO WHAT? IT WAS JUST $1.50!"
Me (full fledged wail): "HOW CAN WE EVER PAY FOR OUR KIDS' COLLEGES IF WE BUY COKES FOR 1.50????"

Needless to say, that was the climax of the argument and the peak of my bad mood. As the statement was coming out of my mouth, I could hear how ridiculous I sounded. Seriously? College tuition? Cal looked at me, completely baffled, as if to say "Do we have kids that I don't know about?"

The good that came out of the situation was that Cal assumed that I must be hard-pressed for money if I was crying over spending $1.50 on a coke (when actually I was just using that as an excuse to be miserable), and it forced "the talk" about savings, retirement, etc. I emailed my uncle, a stock broker/financial guy down in Thomasville about opening that Roth IRA that my parents have been hounding me about for 10 years. Just today, with trembling hands and a whole lot of immature regret, I'm sending my forms off with instructions to directly transfer funds out of my account and into the IRA every month so I can't opt out of contributing when, say, I find 16 great buys at Target, Ross, and Marshall's the next time I agree to leave the house. A monthly reminder, in other words, that I should've just drunk the stupid diet coke.

Currently, I'm back to lazing around the house in my pj's, watching Martha Stewart and Rachael Ray. I hope this behavior will last the duration of the next week and a half, which is all the vacation I have left. I don't think my teacher's salary will cover the consequences of another summertime outing.