Suze Orman never Met My Husband

I'm attempting to learn how to be "fiscally responsible."

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a whiz when it comes to personal finance, and my husband will back up that statement. More than once he has shaken his head in utter despair, eyes raised heavenward, and beseeched me to please, please, please take more of an interest in the household finances. He worries that if he should drop dead of a heart attack some day (which, given today's work environment is a possibility) that I'll never be able to keep financially afloat.

I do try. But in my own defense, I have to say that I'm just not very good at it. Suze Orman would say that's no excuse, that I still have to learn about personal finance. She'd be right, of course.

So I borrowed a book from a friend of mine, called Women and Money, written by none other than Suze Orman. She's a regular feature in magazines such as Women's Day and Oprah. Orman provides advice on such things as protecting your investements. If you don't have investments, she gives advice on how to make some. If you have no investments due to money-grubbing exes or other family members, she has advice for that, too, as well as a host of other topics.

In Women and Money, Orman provides a checklist of things, along with the sound reasons why, that every woman should learn how to do with regard to her personal finances.

Items in one chapter included getting a credit card in your own name, reading your bank statement and checking on the interest rate. Is it the best interest rate? If not, check around and find a better one and move your money there. Another item was to open your own credit card statement and verify the amounts charged with the receipts, and of course, pay the credit card bill on time.

That should be easy enough, I figured. I already knew we'd found the best interest-bearing accounts we could find, and had made some sound investments in various savings programs. While I have been guilty of losing a credit card receipt from time to time (oh come off it all you self-righteous people, like you've never lost anything?) - this month, I happened to have all of them conveniently paper-clipped together, and sitting in the desk drawer, just waiting for the credit card statement to arrive.

Which it did, right on time. I confidently opened the envelope, and tossed the junk inserts that come with the statement every month. I really don't need a set of luggage, after all.

I matched each receipt with each item on the statement. I check the balance in the checkbook, which had an ample amount to cover what I owed on the statement. After all, I'd just made a deposit that day in anticipation of the credit card bill, among others, arriving.

I wrote out the check for the full amount, placed check and statement in the envelope, being careful to show the address of the credit card company through the little window in the envelope, stamped it, and proudly placed the envelope on the table to await delivery into the nearest U.S. postal delivery mailbox.

Then, The Man of the House stepped in.

Now, Suze Orman will tell anyone who listens, and rightly so, that one should never trust her entire financial life to one person. One never knows when one will be bilked by an untrustworthy spouse, lover, relative, stranger, etc. Not to mention that women need to get over this idea that only men are capable of handling money.

But, my spouse is one of those rare guys who can make sound financial decisions. He always discusses them with me, though I'm sure by now he recognizes the glazed look that appears whenever the subject of 401-Ks comes up, or the stock market. I'm sure by now, he only mentions the gory details as a courtesy.

I trust my husband. He trusts me. We have joint accounts and investments, and I have some in my own name, as well. Same with credit cards. This works for us. Other people have their own system.

This said, my husband realized early on that he'd better take control of the household money or we'd be living paycheck to paycheck. It was with a sense of relief that I turned it all over to him. He has devised a system that works for him with regard to stockpiling money for upcoming bills, current bills, savings, etc.

He sat down that evening, overlooking the proudly stamped envelope addressed to Visa, and began the weekly number-crunching and paying of bills.

Ten minutes later, I heard through several rooms of the house, a muffled exclamation that sounded something like "pffffa-- what the shhhh ffffffkkkk aaaaugh!"

The stomping of feet ensued just seconds later.

A patient but glowering face appeared around the corner of the wall from me. "Kathy," began that voice that comes out when an adult is attempting to correct an overeager child but not quash the child's enthusiasm, "I'm really glad that you took the initiative to take care of the credit card bill, but you've messed up my accounting system and it has taken me the last 20 minutes to get it all sorted out."

After a brief and carefully controlled discussion that at any other time could have turned into a shouting match with perhaps a slamming door thrown in for good measure, the sum of it appears to be that if I'm going to write out a bill for my credit card, I'm going to have to learn his complicated system of cash withholding in order to save him 20 minutes of extra book keeping every month, when said statement is due.

Pfffft. Like that's gonna happen (Sorry, Suze).

"Please," said my by-then exhausted husband, "don't do that again."

Suze would be appalled. I bet some of you are, too. But I bet an equal number of you are nodding your heads, ruefully laughing because you get the same thing from your significant others.

Well, I will get past the first few chapters of Suze's book, and work my way into "retirement and investments" at some point. I can hardly wait to see what my husband will say when he sees me sitting on the floor near the desk, bottom drawer open, our retirement portfolio scattered about.

Maybe he'd be more excited if I combined that activity with a slinky negligee.

Then again, he might just think I'm crazy.



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