The Plastic Spoon

My cheap mother is a champion pack-rat. She saves absolutely everything that could possibly ever be of value, and lots of stuff that could not possibly ever be of any value. Much of her Tupperware says "Cool Whip" on it, and one shouldn't be surprised to see her drinking out of an old jelly or pickle jar. Nothing wrong with that, I guess. Waste not, want not, as they say. But my cheap mother can take this mantra a little too far.

One time I was emptying the dishwasher and found that my mother had run a plastic spoon through the cycle. Not, you know, a reusable spoon made of plastic, just your standard-issue plastic party spoon that you throw away. I would have thought that those things melt down to nothing when they go through an entire dishwasher cycle, but apparently they can survive.

In disbelief, I threw the spoon in question away. Later in the evening, she dug it out of the trash and asked, "Who threw away the spoon?" She's probably still using it.

Taco Night!

Food was one way my cheap mother could really save some money. One of our better childhood meals was taco night, but mom could still save some money on that. It should go without saying that she purchased the cheapest taco dinner kit available. But so do lots of people. She did buy salsa (cheap brand) at the store most weeks, but most of the time it would not last until taco night, because she liked to eat it with a spoon (see hot dog buns). This was a real bummer, because she would not buy tomatoes as tomatoes were generally pricey, and she could really save some money in that way. But who needs tomatoes, right? Even Taco Bell offers tacos without tomatoes, it really isn't that strange. Another way she would save money was to not buy shredded Mexican cheese. Cheese? Yeah, she wouldn't buy cheese for tacos, leaving us with taco shells, meat, lettuce, and occasionally salsa if we hid it at the back of the refrigerator and she didn't find it. In such cases, we would sometimes tear American cheese singles into pieces to use on our tacos.

Food Labels

My cheap mother dated this huge loser named Glenn for a while. Glenn delivered pizzas for a living. For about a year of my childhood, I think, we had some cold messed-up Pizza Hut order for dinner about 5 nights a week. Yum.

But that's not the point. Glenn was kind of stupid (that's how a man comes to deliver pizzas for a living well into his thirties). Glenn was convinced that Chiquita bananas were better than other brands of bananas. They might be; I haven't tested for myself. But, at the same time, I can see how my mother thought this was silly. In order to avoid buying more expensive bananas, she started buying Chiquitas once in a while, then saving the stickers, so that when the next few bunches she bought were generic, she could stick a Chiquita sticker or two on the generic bunch, and Glenn would be none the wiser.

It may not surprise you to hear that Glenn had preferences for other name brand items, such as Kellogg's Corn Flakes, or Jif Peanut Butter. Naturally, my cheap mother expanded her banana-label-replacing scheme to cover all kinds of foods. Pull the bag out of a generic box of cereal, drop it in a Kellogg's box, and voila! You've got yourself some name brand cereal.

Of course, you can tell the difference. These name brand Corn Flakes taste funny, you think. It never occurs to you, though, that someone could be so cheap, so obsessed with proving that her way is smarter and better, that she could have swapped Corn Flakes. If these came out of the name brand box, they must be name brand. Then, of course, my cheap mother reveals her scheme and offers as proof that generic cereal is the same as name brand cereal the fact that you didn't notice the difference. Even though you did.

Epilogue: I think Glenn came to our house a couple years later selling vacuum cleaners door-to-door. It was awkward.

Vases

I don't think my cheap mother owns a vase. I think this because when I was a little kid, sometimes I would find flowers when I was playing outside, and like little girls do, I'd pick them and give them to my mother. Then, like cheap mothers do, she'd put them in an old jelly jar, or in a plastic cup like the kind a bank or insurance company might give you for free, or sometimes in a soda can. (Coincidentally, I remember drinking water or milk out of all three items growing up. My cheap mother didn't break down and buy real drinking glasses until I was in high school or so.)

You could probably sell a couple of daffodils in a soda can as art somewhere. But probably only if it was a Coke can, not a Diet Bubba can.