August, 2012

It's Not Hard To Meet Expenses—They're Everywhere

Even though I'm long past the stretch-one-pot-of-ramen-to-make-three-meals point in my life, I still tend to be careful when I shop. Even though I know the bank account can stand $Gasp.99 per pound for, oh, say, rib eyes, I try to get them at Costco for much less or catch it on sale at the market. (And since Costco or BJs is a pack of 6 or 7, even the lower price will still send me into sticker shock.)

"Holy crap! $6.99 a pound for pot roast?! As Gamma said, 'they certainly have a high opinion of their product.' I swear, it's cheaper to raise a cow in the back yard!"

My mother didn't even try to hide her smile. Those were her words—with a higher price, since it was thirty or forty years later—coming out of my face. "Everything goes up, Cassie."

"I know, but—" I gestured to the cart in frustration. "Bread—four and a quarter for decent stuff. Even house brand white bread—" She made a face. Mom is picky about bread. "—is a buck and change! House brand peanut butter is almost three, and crappy jelly is a buck fifty!"

"Bread. Three loaves for a dollar," she sighed. "Not any more."

"Ground beef. Absurd!"

"I remember filling the trunk of the car for thirty dollars, even when your brother tried to eat us out of house and home."

"Lamb chops!" I almost growled as I shook the package in the air. "Thirteen ninety-nine a pound! Fourteen bucks! I remember eating them twice a week because they were cheap!"

"Import tax?" she suggested wryly.

"I'm putting some lambs in the back yard, too!"

Ducky slipped a bag of tomatoes into the top basket and grimaced. "Old Doc Mallard had a farm—E-I-E-I-O." He tipped his head toward me. "She complaining about prices again?"

I glared at him and Mom shrugged. "So am I."

"Penny candy," Ducky offered as we left the meat department.

"No such thing any more," Mom said.

"Sure there is. It's just a hundred pennies for a bag," I corrected. On sale.

"Nickel Hershey bar? Fifty cents."

I gave her a rude noise. "When was the last time you bought a candy bar? Two for a buck-fifty—on sale." I remember the shock when candy bars jumped to 10 cents, then 15, then 25. At 50, I went numb. After that point, it had to be a great sale for me to buy an individual full size bar; I mostly just relied on post holiday sales. (When I moved in with Ducky, I cleared out the freezer and was mortified to find a bag of Reese's Easter eggs in the corner. They were dated 1997. And they were still quite tasty. Like I would ever throw out chocolate?)

"How about the Sherlock Holmes radio shows we listen to?" Ducky said. "With the old Clipper Craft suit ads, nothing over $40 I believe."

"I can find you a lovely suit for forty dollars."

Ducky gave Mom a skeptical look. "Made out of what—paper towels?"

"Nope. It might be a trifle out of date… but Second Hand Rose has some wonderful bargains."

Ducky winced. "Zoot suits? No, thank you."

"Saddle shoes are still cool." Not my original saddle shoes—but also not the original price.

"And I love that black and silver beaded dress your grandmother saved," Mom said with a cheery smile.

Gamma was a flapper. She wasn't always my sweet little pudding of a grandmother. In the 20s she was a hot patootie with shingle bobbed hair, spangled headband, high heels, rolled stockings and swinging beads. Mom took after her and didn't turn into a sweet little pudding; she stayed 3L (long, lean, looker) and still looks killer in her 80s—especially when wearing that dress.

"What was that time travel story about meat prices…"

I gave Ducky a look. "That's like saying 'I want the book with the gray cover that everybody is reading.' Could I get a clue?"

"Yes, but I remember you saying that you knew they meant Hunt For Red October."

Okay. I'm good. I admit it.

"The inventor got the time machine to work, but it would only go back twenty years. He thought it was a failure—until his wife hopped in the machine and came back with hundreds of dollars' worth of meat... at twenty year old prices!"

I actually recognized the story—but, for the life of me, couldn't name it. "That was in the 70s, I think, when meat went insanely high."

"And sugar. And coffee!" Mom burst out. "Dear God, when coffee tripled in price and I swear it was in a one week period!"

"And now a one pound can isn't even a pound—it's 12 or 13 ounces!" Ducky was beyond affronted.

"Half gallon of ice cream—my Aunt Fanny!" Mom almost sneered. The 1.75 quart "half-gallon" really had her pissed when it happened, even more than the coffee did.

We continued through the store, reminiscing about fashions, fads and foods (and especially prices) of bygone eras, finally meeting up with Mother, Suzy and Lexi in the little café at the end of the store where they were noshing on hot chocolate (with real whipped cream) and cinnamon rolls. Suzy joined in on the 'remember when?' with gusto, but Mother gave Ducky a scold.

"Donald, you really need to stop living in the past!" That's hot advice coming from a woman who isn't always on the same continent let alone in the same decade as the rest of us.

Ducky looked at the price on the pot roast and flinched as he set the package on the belt. "Why not?" he shot back. "It's cheaper back then!"