Look, Tolya, what a great buy!” I showed my husband my new winter boots. “Leather—and they were fifty percent off!”
Anatoly glanced at the box and grimaced.
“Boots again? You already have, what, five pairs! You spend too much on yourself, Olya. You’re always buying something. A dress, boots, some expensive cosmetics…”
I counted in my head. Five pairs in ten years. But of course, the eight thousand rubles I paid yesterday for utilities, and the four thousand I spent on groceries for the week—he doesn’t consider that “spending.” He only notices my purchases.
“I don’t buy anything unnecessary for myself,” he went on. “I walk around in old shoes, I wear shirts for five years. And you do nothing but waste money on nonsense.”
“Tolya, I need these boots. The old ones are completely worn out.”
“Need, need!” he waved his hand. “You women always ‘need’ something! If everyone were responsible only for themselves, you’d learn to save right away!”
That phrase sparked a wonderful idea in my head.
“You know what, Tolya,” I said, carefully putting the boot box into the closet. “You’re right. Let’s run an experiment.”
“What kind of experiment?”
“Next month we live on separate budgets. Everyone pays for themselves. You live only on your salary—buy your own food, clothes, hygiene products, pay your half of the utilities. And I live on my salary and buy what I think I need. Let’s see which of us spends more on ‘nonsense.’”
Anatoly straightened up. A challenge lit up in his eyes.
“Great idea! I’ll show you how a man saves money! I’ll still have a pile left, and you’ll learn what real saving looks like!”
“Deal. Utilities strictly split in half—four thousand each. We buy groceries separately. I cook only for myself, you cook for yourself. Nobody supports anybody.”
“Easy!” he declared confidently. “The month will fly by, and you’ll see the difference!”
On payday Anatoly ceremoniously spread his money out on the table—forty-two thousand rubles.
“There!” he announced proudly. “That’s enough for everything—and I’ll still have some left!”
I silently set aside four thousand for my half of the utilities and started making my shopping list.
The next day he went to the store himself. He came back with a bag of the cheapest pasta, sausages, and white bread.
“Filling and economical!” he proclaimed, arranging his purchases on his half of the refrigerator. “Not like your overpriced delicacies!”
I said nothing, pulling proper meat, vegetables, and good bread from my bag. I cooked separately. The smell of my dinner filled the kitchen while he chewed his pasta and sausages.
“And why are you spending money on expensive meat?” he grunted. “Sausages are meat too.”
The first week passed relatively calmly. Anatoly felt like a successful economist. Then the apartment bill arrived.
“Four thousand is my share?” he stared at the numbers. “For what?”
“For half the apartment you live in,” I explained patiently. “Heating, electricity, water, trash, major repairs.”
Reluctantly, he counted out the bills. His wallet looked noticeably thinner.
In the second week, he ran out of his cheap laundry detergent.
“Three hundred rubles for a pack of good detergent?” Anatoly fumed in the store. “That’s robbery!”
“You can buy your cheap one again,” I suggested.
He bought the cheap one. After three washes, his favorite shirt turned gray.
“What is this garbage?” he seethed, inspecting the ruined item.
“Good detergent costs more,” I reminded him, loading my clothes—washed perfectly clean with quality detergent.
In the third week, he ran out of coffee.
“Eight hundred rubles for a jar of coffee?” he went red in the store. “Are you kidding me?!”
“Drink instant,” I advised.
He bought the cheapest instant coffee. Two days later he was spitting and swearing, watching me enjoy my fragrant whole-bean coffee.
By the end of the third week, he had only a few coins left. Payday was still a week away, and he had nothing to buy anything with.
“Olya…” he began guiltily, coming up to me in the kitchen. “So… there’s this thing… I’m completely out of money. And my transit pass ran out.”
I looked up at him from my tablet, where I was making my shopping list for next week.
“And what do you want?”
“Well… could you lend me some? Just a little?”
“Tolya, we agreed. Everyone for themselves. That was your principle.”
“But I didn’t think everything would be so expensive…”
“And I did. Because I buy all of this every month.”
He stood there silently, shifting from foot to foot.
“You can ask for an advance at work,” I suggested. “Or find a side job for the weekend.”
“A side job?” he was stunned. “I’m already sixty!”
“And I’m fifty-five, but somehow I manage my budget.”
The following days he walked to work—saving on transportation. He ate nothing but pasta. And I, as usual, bought myself normal food, good cosmetics, quality things.
At the end of the month he sat down beside me on the couch. He looked worn out.
“Olya, I get it,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know everything costs that much. That it takes so much money just to live.”
“Forty-two thousand wasn’t enough?” I asked.
“I barely made it to payday. And only on pasta.”
“And with my forty thousand, I paid for the apartment, ate normally, bought boots, and even went to a beauty salon.”
He shook his head.
“How do you manage?”
“I know how to plan. And I don’t buy nonsense—I buy what’s necessary. I’ll wear these boots for ten years. A good cream lasts six months. And quality food doesn’t harm your health—so you spend less on medicine.”
The experiment ended. The reproaches toward me stopped forever.
A month later we went shopping together. Anatoly no longer grimaced when I picked good groceries or looked at quality clothing.
“Get the coat that’s more expensive,” he said. “The cheap one will wear out fast, and then you’ll have to buy a new one.”
I smiled. The experiment worked even better than I’d expected.