why surrendering my ATM to Mahal is ultimately better

SATURDAY AND SUNDAY last weekend I felt an odd sensation in my back pocket; specifically my wallet. A certain item there made my billfold (a nearly useless article, it hardly contains any bills or banknotes) a little bulkier than usual: it contained my ATM or bank card. *****     *****     ***** Let me backtrack a bit for your enlightenment Precious Reader. An hour before she left for work, I asked Mahal my beauteous wife if I could go out for a Kiwi Big Breakfast at McDo on my own, it being my last rest day before another week of night shift and with unexpected sunshine to enjoy (with its defrosting gale-force winds, early Wellington spring is sometimes a bit colder than winter, brrrr). No problem she said, and out from her purse she whips out my ATM. Haven’t seen that in a while, I quip. Oo nga, so alagaan mo sya, she comes right back at me. (yeah, so please take care of it.) So I buy myself a fast-food and nutritionally underwhelming breakfast (I’m so cheap I really just wanna read the free weekend paper, just as much), buy a few meaningless things at the riverside weekend market, and gamble on a lotto ticket (which might turn out to be a one-way ticket home, malay mo), but overall it was a feeling I hadn’t had for some time: alone, and spending money. For this reason, let me tell you why. Shared stress in budgeting. For a few years now, by mutual consent I’ve surrendered possession of my ATM to my better half as it is by itself a symbolic and actual abdication of any and all responsibility to pay the household bills. This delicious prospect shouldn’t be confused with the actual duty of earning salapi with which to put food on the table, pay power and telecom bills (water in Wellington is generally free); I am bound to that forever. However, since I have forsaken access to funds for that purpose, I am no longer saddled with the stress to deal with same on a daily basis. Guess whose pretty shoulders that unenviable task now falls on, since she now has sole access to the funds (wink wink). Don’t get me wrong please. Mahal, baka due na yung Trustpower? or Mahal, nalimutan mo ata yung beer sale kahapon sa Countdown are still helpful hints that I can nudge Mahal with. But that’s about it. Ain’t life great? 🙂 Added sympathy vote. Believe it or not, when you no longer have control over the principal bank account, you actually gain sympathy when it comes to asking for money for your own expenses, as human nature favors the person who gives way or forfeits power. So when I spot my favorite Batman or Game of Thrones collectible action figure on sale, or when there’s an unexpected beer and wine sale at the corner supermarket, all I need to do is smile my sweetest smile at the ATM custodian, and ask in my cutest voice, penge namang $20 love, panggastos lang?  It never fails. Extra help, here and there. And lastly, this is an unintended side effect, but for those times when the hard-earned wages for the week ain’t enough for the gastusin (weekly expenses), because Mahal has the first-hand or personal knowledge of the budget deficit, she is in the best position to shore up the shortfall, either from hidden savings she’s squirreled away, or from her own resources (she works 35 hours at the neighborhood mall). Either way, it’s an excellent assist from her in my effort to be principal breadwinner, in fact the enterprise is now a joint effort, and there is no shame in that admission. **********          **********          ********** Years and years ago, when I was younger than I can remember, every fortnight on my mother’s bureau dresser was a thick envelope containing my dad’s sweldo. On the pay envelope itself was written all the figures my mom needed to know: My dad’s gross pay, less, withholding tax, less social security and medicare contributions, and any deductions from loans my mom knew about. Nothing was kept by my dad; he even recorded Christmas bonuses and overtime pay. Whether it was his utmost honesty or respect for my mother’s homemaking role, the result was the same: a tradition I and undoubtedly all my brothers have kept. If I’ve ruffled any feathers or sown any discord as a result of this disclosure, apologies in advance. All I know is a happy wife means a happy life. For this and all other ATM-free husbands! Thanks for reading!