For years I shamefully hid the generic version of Total cereal in the back of the cupboard, but now I proudly display it on the counter,[9] where it can be admired in all its $2.50 glory. At my local drugstore, I loudly grouse about the price of my hair product being raised without worrying about sounding shrill.[10] I don’t have to explain why I can’t fly across the country to attend my great-aunt’s 90th-birthday party; everyone understands. Pre-recession, if I was out with a group at a restaurant, I panicked if someone ordered sparkling water for the table.[11] Now I request “Tap[12], please,” and no one objects.
My thrifty[13] roots can be traced directly back to my father, who loved a good bargain. While my mother never seemed worried about money (if I couldn’t decide between two types of candy at the drugstore, she would say, “Oh, just get them both!”), my father was constantly looking to save a few cents. And I do mean cents. I remember him taking my sister and me ice-skating one Sunday in Philadelphia, where we lived. When we got to the rink, we learned that, because it was Easter, anyone who brought decorated eggs was entitled to a discount.[14] The word discount had barely been uttered before my father was schlepping us back home on the bus (we didn’t own a car) to find some eggs to decorate.[15] Given that we are Jewish, we hadn’t realized it was Easter Sunday, and none of us had any idea how to decorate eggs. My dad’s attitude was “How hard can it be?” and he found us some ballpoint pens and Magic Markers,[16] which we used to draw on a few eggs. (We now know you’re supposed to hard-boil[17] them first.)
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