Getting a Degree in Cheap: Diary of a Cheapskate

It may be summer, but Cheapskate School’s still in session. No whining. The title of today’s lesson: “Pay a Professional to Do It? Don’t Be Silly!”

It can be an incredibly seductive notion. I realized as much the other day, when, having willingly stuck my hand down my own toilet at great length, I finally managed to loosen an unseen wad of God-knows-what that had lodged itself deep within the porcelain bowels (hee-hee). I pulled this off through a savvy combination of maniacal plunger-wielding and pigheaded stubbornness.

And all to the tune of a mellifluous soundtrack:

Plunge, plunge, plunge …

“Who needs plumbers?”

Plunge, plunge, plunge …

“Do it myself!”

Ah, “Do-it-Yourself.” The graduate-level Cheapskate’s favorite three-word phrase—right behind “you inherit everything.” It belongs to a highly selective, advanced field of study. Just like everyone with a night school economics degree and a dream of launching Pork Chop-on-a-Stick franchises nationwide isn’t destined to study for a Harvard MBA, you don’t just wake up one day deciding to get your masters in Do It Yourself moneysaving.

You have to work your way up to it, first by acing the undergraduate Cheapskate core curriculum (“Intro to Occasionally Turning Off Your Damned Air Conditioner,” “It’s Still Lettuce If It’s Brown 101”). Next, come the smaller, more specialized seminars, such as “ ‘Borrowing’ From the Neighbors,” with its seminal textbook, “Su Wireless es Mi Wireless.”

Qualifying for graduate-level coursework in Cheapskate Studies is tough, but definitely worth it. It’s not all about saving money (Ha, just kidding! Of course it’s all about saving money!) There’s also the thrilling sense of accomplishment that comes from having endured years of rigorous schooling meant to separate that small group of truly dedicated students from the mere pretenders.

Down there at C-level, the wallet-whipped wimps. Up here at the top of the class, a very few committed types like us who burn to learn that “Dry Clean Only” labels are a complete scam—especially if you’re willing to spend a whole Saturday dipping your best cashmere sweater in a generic Woolite-knockoff bath and then blow-drying it back into shape.