Happy New Year: Diary of a Cheapskate

For two weeks, I drove all over, trying—and failing—to find the elusive pizza oven. And trying—and failing—not to suffer miserly pangs each time I had to refill my car with gas or calculate how much it would cost to mail a monstrosity big enough to cook a pepperoni pie cross-country. I finally cracked one day outside a Best Buy in a town I hadn’t even heard of an hour earlier, moaning the words I’d only heard myself saying in my worst nightmares:

“I’m sick of thinking about money.”

I ordered the pizza oven online. Dad got it two days later. The Amex bill awaits.

So does the $102—the exact cost of the oven—that I’ve already tucked away in an envelope in my house. This one will go down in the record books as the “All-Cash Christmas”—with an asterisk.

I vow to do better next year. Until then, my only solace is this:

I can still wear my pants anonymously in America.