Instead, I bought a brand-new queen-size bed, three-hundred-thread-count sheets, and developed a taste for sushi. My job, though it paid less than $20,000 a year, required suits, so those went on the cards as well. I made friends who were either wealthier than or as foolish as I, and charged dinners and drinks at fancy restaurants, and cute outfits to wear to said restaurants.
I wised up sometime during my mid-twenties, but the damage was done. The cycle of compound interest had begun.
Now I have a financial plan in place, and I’ve forced it upon my husband-to-be. But it requires some tough choices. Like moving into a basement apartment. A difference in rent of between $900 and $1200 doesn’t seem like so much, but that’s $3,600 a year, money that will help me pay off my debt faster and avoid racking up more interest. And that’s in addition to what we’ll be saving on utilities, cable, Internet, and laundry, which adds up to about $150 per month—which, when added to our rent reduction, is a total savings of about $5,500 a year. I’m feeling better already.
As a textbook Cancerian, it kills me to not be excited about my space. My home is my haven, and I drool over glossy design magazines, Le Creuset stock pots, Denyse Schmidt quilts, and the RAR Eames rocker (in lime yellow). But I’ll do what I can to make the new place cozy without destroying my budget. I’m even slightly excited about the challenge. And every time I look at the peeling, stained, laminate countertop, I’ll visualize myself free of debt and traveling the world, or paying for a car in cash. When I think of it that way, my basement apartment seems downright delightful.
PREVIOUS PAGE
