My End-of-Year Finances Are Down Bad

The holidays are bleeding me dry.

I was thinking about the Panera lemonade that’s been killing people and wondered what would happen if I ordered five of them. Would the franchise manager call a social worker? If I wanted a pitcher’s worth poured into a bread bowl, would it come with the suicide hotline number? And while I was considering the implications of many bleak prospects, my internal monologue shifted to the state of my finances in this garbage inflationary economy.

For people in my demographic cohort, I would say that I have roughly an average relationship with sound financial management. That is, I can’t imagine what my brain or personality or life would be like if I didn’t strike a balance between responsible saving and attending about 60 concerts over the last two years, and I turn into a total raving goofus whenever given the opportunity to purchase a limited edition vinyl. Much like the way our high-capitalist looters make their specious and short-sighted risk assessments, I am not afraid to splurge on the hobbies and things I care about and allow my next paycheck to take care of the rest. My spending uptick in December may be a harbinger of hibernating season, both in my willingness to binge whatever selection of movies are available on Netflix and in my latent desire to drop my credit card in a cup of water and lock it in my freezer.

God said summers in Europe aren’t enough, so I need one expensive AF month to end the year with a bang. This past week, I looked at my credit card statement and thought to myself, Jesus take the wheel, and my Lord and Savior actually grabbed the wheel and told me I needed to replace my brakes immediately. If I were a business, I’d have to call an emergency shareholder meeting to discuss why my Q4 numbers are down and how this may or may not correlate to an excessive amount of spending on booze and high-end dining. Maybe it’s just that festive time of the year. I bop around from end-of-the-year office parties to wine nights to little shindigs at holiday-themed pop-up bars, and I buy gifts for people I haven’t even spoken to in months, spending all this cash I don’t really have. Maybe I should book a vacation during the first two weeks of December to avoid all the bippity-boppeting of the pre-Christmas socializing and gift exchanges and Secret Santas. By the third and fourth week of December, everyone migrates for the holidays. It produces the same result: I’m broke at the end of the month, but at least it was spent on me.

I look at my bank account in December the same way the “cool” parent lets their high school kids and their friends drink in the basement. “Hope everyone has fun and stays safe! I don’t need to see or hear what’s going on downstairs. Just, please, nobody drink-and-drive.” The way I look at it, the money we spend in December is none of our business.

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