Not getting in massive trouble? Priceless!

"Nothing surpasses credit card fear" - Bill Swinyard

One of the great things about His Nibs is that after all these years together, he can still surprise me.

Sometimes by unprompted romantic gestures, sometimes by coming up with mad ideas or nutty schemes that make me think I've never known him at all.

And sometimes just by lighting the fire and handing over a Fruit and Nut bar when I've had a very difficult day.

These are lovely surprises, obviously.  Any sort of romance or chocolate is always welcome.  And even his mad ideas are, at worst, entertaining.

But there’s a difference between a surprise and a fright. 

I often think it's no harm to have a secret or two in a marriage.  Not the cocaine habit and prostitute type of secret, obviously.  But the never going into the bathroom and leaving the door open type. 

His Nibs doesn't really believe in secrets.  He thinks that we're both a bit odd, and that we should disclose our oddness as much as possible, to stop it getting out of control. 

Also, he knows me very well.  He knows that when he asks me whether I have any secrets, and I mutter mysteriously "maybe one or two, a woman should always have secrets" that I'm not referring to the secret that my hair is dyed (this is not a secret.  Also, my hair is currently snow white, so even if it was supposed to be a secret it'd be a really bad one).  He knows that if I have a secret from him it's probably for nefarious reasons, and that he should not rest until all is revealed.

 Last Sunday, I was sitting in front of aforementioned fire, replete with Fruit & Nut, and watching Netflix, when my husband burst into the room.

 "We're a family" he declared.

"Yes, we are" - I thought he was about to say lovely things about how we'd always be together and how happy he was.

"And as a family we should have no secrets".  Feck.   I tried to head him off at the pass.

"Well, not many secrets anyway.  A woman should always have a few little secrets" I smiled at him.

"No she shouldn't.  What are your secrets?"

"Feck off.  I'm not telling you my secrets.  They wouldn't be secrets anymore would they?"

"Ok, how many secrets do you have?" He looked straight at me, suspicion all over his face.  I started to feel a bit uncomfortable.

"One."

"OK, well we know it's not to do with another man.”  The cheek of him!  I could have a man secret, I thought to myself.  And then I realised I couldn't.  Sure we're never apart.  We work together, we commute together, we even walk the dogs together.  When would I get to see a secret man?  Anyway, my white hair, I'd imagine, would repel anyone. 

"And we know it's not one of those silly secrets about shaving your legs or something.”

I bowed my head in shame.

A silence stretched between us.  I kept telling myself not to say anything, that he was waiting for me to talk, that if I remained silent, he might go away.  The tension was palpable. 

"Is your secret to do with money?"

Fecking fecking feck.  He'd caught me.  The thing is, I can justify the keeping of a secret.  But I try to make a habit of not lying to the man I love.  A direct question, in our house, demands an honest answer. I sighed deeply, and waited for the storm.

 "Yes."

"Do you have a debt I don't know about?"

"Yes."

"Is it a bank loan?"

"No."

"Is it a money lender?" Jesus Christ, I thought to myself.  He doesn't think I'm a bit odd. He thinks I live a whole double life and have dealings with moneylenders and criminals in one life and with office hours and dog walking in the other.

"Of course it's not a money lender.Jesus."  But when I looked at him he was grinning.

"I'm only messing.  I know it's not a moneylender.  So it's something legal.  How bad can it be?  Come on, fess up."

My secret is a credit card. 

His Nibs and I got a credit card each about ten years ago, when we were going on a big trip and thought it might be useful.  His Nibs came home from the holiday, cut up the credit card he'd never used, and never got one again.

I refused to part with mine, insisting it might be useful in an emergency, and for years almost never used it.

But then the recession came.  And unfortunately for me, my desire to own new and shiny things didn't decrease when my bank balance did.  I didn't go out and buy a designer wardrobe, but I used it for little bits and pieces, now and again.  If I wanted to go away for a night to a spa, for instance, but couldn't afford it, I'd go anyway, put it on the credit card, and put it out of my head.

And I might have allowed myself to buy something I really, really wanted when I didn't have the money, under the heading of "I work hard, I deserve a treat."

And bit by bit, the credit card bill started increasing.  Because I never paid it off in full.  So now, even though I've stopped using it completely, I'm like a ninja around the fifteenth of every month, trying to get to the post and hide the bill before His Nibs sees it.

The trouble is, I was in this exact situation a couple of years ago.  I paid the bill off eventually, and swore I'd never use the card again.  

This wasn't enough for His Nibs, who insisted, rightly, that I get rid of it, that I wasn't able to handle it.

I may or may not have very strongly implied that I'd gotten rid of the credit card.  I may or may not have, instead, taken it out of my purse and hidden it from myself in a drawer in my house, so that I could never spend on it impulsively.

And I may or may not have, after one non-impulsive purchase, completely failed to hide it from myself again and instead carried it around in my purse, as if I was grown up and reliable enough to be in charge of such a dangerous item.

The last time we did our big grocery shopping, I thought I'd handed over my debit card, and used a PIN number which proved to be incorrect.  I'd tried to use the cursed credit card.   His Nibs was right beside me, packing our shopping, when I had to explain to the assistant that I was sorry, and change cards.

To my huge surprise, he said nothing at the time.  But my guess is that he saw exactly what happened.

Then, on Sunday His Nibs decided to review our financial situation.  It bothers him greatly that we both get up and go to work every day, and yet we don't seem to have two pennies to rub together.

I blame the weather.  Had it been a sunny July afternoon, he probably would have been out gardening and my secret would have remained safe.

The sorry tale of the secret card tumbled out.  He was nice enough not to mention that I'd told him that I'd destroyed the card two years ago.  He asked me the balance, and I told him the truth.

"I suppose you're going to start shouting?" I asked him.

"No.  I don't actually shout as much as you seem to think I do."  He was a picture of calm.  Maybe, knowing me as he does, he was relieved.  He probably wouldn't have bat an eyelid if I'd told him I had a selection of maxed out credit cards, numerous loans and had remortgaged the house.

"But I'm going to need that card."

He held his hand out and waited.  I swallowed hard.  But what could I do?  The game was well and truly up.

He chopped it up into little bits, in front of my very eyes.  Then he burned the pieces in the fireplace. Just as well I suppose.  I've never been able to bring myself to get rid of the card, and I'm obviously unable to handle it.

I've always thought, in the past, "but what happens if there's an emergency?"

Well, this is becoming an emergency.  The outstanding bill is high enough now that there really isn't enough credit left on it to fund a proper emergency anyway.

So I let it go, without a fuss.

And wouldn't you know it, after I put petrol in my car this morning, I realised I didn't have my debit card with me.  The credit card would have been a lot handier than ringing His Nibs for rescue then, wouldn't it?