As long as we’ve been married, like Laura Petrie in the infamous scene where Rob finds Laura’s stash in her panty drawer, I have always had a little bit of what I call my “stash”. There is never a time I give up my last dime, though I’ve gotten down to the last dime many times.
I need my own money to get my hair done, buy my shampoo, or any number of girlie things that a man simply doesn’t get. It’s not like I’m sitting on a fortune. I am just a saver. I need that cushion above and beyond “his n her” money. I need it to survive mentally and physically and emotionally. I need that little stickler of independence for the braless and blue jean hippy girl that still lives inside my soul. I need the mystery of my little stash.
I confess, I don’t keep it in my panty drawer –I think it’s just important that a woman have some control over her own spending destiny, and at the same time, that money was there for the whole family, not just mom.
For the most part my “stash” has gone for family things. It’s a rainy day fund that has bought our plane tickets for our annual second honeymoon with our best friends, or spending-money downtown for a day. It’s funded repairs and purchases of appliances. I saved and saved to replace our entire landscape around our house. It’s paid for Christmas every single year, and it was used to buy two little ones their new sneakers and mittens, story books, and action figures, roller blades and scooters; and later back packs, and concert tickets and college text books and gas money.
Every year, I drive with Twinsie out to see our dad in New Jersey, time spent with him is priceless, funded by my little stash. It buys the little whatnots that we find along the way on my journey with twinsie, and the many journeys with hubby. My stash, and my need for it, is just the security of knowing that I am able to contribute because I earned and saved. Like Laura, the stash wasn’t for her alone, it was for the love of sharing.