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A few months ago, one of my daughters was home for a visit when she caught me red-handed, fishing a sock out of the kitchen trash bin. Cue the accusation: I was being “tight.” Some context first. Earlier that day, she’d been pairing up socks fresh out of the dryer when she found a hole in one of my sports socks and binned the pair without a second thought.
I should stress: I really don’t make a habit of rummaging through the rubbish. I just happened to spot it in there and had to investigate. When she caught me mid-rescue, I explained my system, patiently, as any sensible guy would. I always buy the same type of sports sock.
So when one develops a hole, I don’t throw out its perfectly good partner. I hold onto it, because sooner or later another sock will wear through and I’ll have a matching pair again. She was not impressed. That’s when the word “tight” came out along with a roll of the eyes.
My daughter simply doesn’t grasp the concept. I wasn’t being tight, I was making do! And I’ll admit, it’s something of a habit with me.
Take my electric toothbrush. I’ve had it so long the battery barely holds a charge anymore. Three uses and it’s straight back on the charger. But to my mind, that’s not a problem: it still does its job perfectly well, so why waste money on a new one just because the old one’s become a semi-permanent resident on the charging stand?
I think there’s a thread running through all this: I really don’t like wasting money. During COVID, I bought a combined mains/battery-powered hair trimmer to keep the locks under control until the barbers reopened. Then I discovered my wife Suzie did just as good a job, and I never went back. That’s $25 saved on every trim.
Unfortunately, the trimmer has now developed the same affliction as the toothbrush. These days, when I need a trim, I have to faff about digging out the extension cable and running it straight off the mains. It’s not much of a hassle, and it saves me buying a new one. Once again, making do.
So here’s my question: surely I can’t be the only one with these little quirks? It would be a lonely existence to think I’m the sole Humble Dollar reader squeezing extra value out of tired old gadgets and orphan socks. Does anyone else have examples to share? Give me some ideas in pursuit of perfecting the art of making do.
Mark, I can think of a number of examples of making do, but most of them are associated with grasping pennies by necessity–it takes a little pain to save enough to matter. Like the garden fork with the cheap plastic grip that I nursed through many seasons because I wouldn’t spend $45 for a sturdy, new one with metal fittings. By holding it just right and using carefully measured force, it served perfectly well.
But I think you’re referring, instead, to the satisfying feeling of choosing to make do when we can afford to buy a replacement. Like my pair of black, Italian dress shoes. I picked them up years ago from the clearance rack at a bargain shoe store, at a deep discount. I regularly sport about in them. Even so, the uppers get light wear, but I’ve replaced the sole once, and expect I’ll do it again if my favorite repair shop is still in business.
Your lead paragraph reminds me of following my five-year-daughter when she passed a trash bin. She gave it a casual glance, then gave a double-take and exclamation when she spied some coveted object–maybe packaging that she could fashion into some make-believe dwelling for her stuffed animals? I forget, but I do remember the scolding her parents received about tossing out treasure without first consulting her. We complied. Instead, we buried it out of sight at the bottom of the bin.
Ed, I was caught like a naughty child beside that trash bin — in hindsight, it’s quite an amusing image. As for your suspicion, you’re entirely correct. There’s real satisfaction in making do, not out of hardship, but as a lightly worn badge of honour to my frugal philosophy.
On the matter of your garden fork, I took the opposite approach. Mine’s a fine stainless steel piece, with the shaft and handle carved from a single piece of wood. It’s a wonderful tool to look at, and I always enjoy handling it… the actual forking, less so.
I can’t resist reply. I’ve adopted a new approach to buying. one focused on quality, rather than price. I did buy that better fork a few years ago, and enjoy it immensely. And I’ve considered upgrading to one like you describe, but I won’t unless my present fork develops a problem.
Buying a better garden fork is a small matter, and I’m sure I could have done it years ago with no damage to my long-term financial health. But it’s evidence of a mind that’s moved beyond a feeling of lack and uncertainty about money. And that’s not a small matter.
I’m with you on the socks, I’m not doing extension cords for grooming tools.