My wife and I are cheap. We love scouring for a sale and have serious anxiety about spending money.
I guess the politically correct term is "frugal," but since I always have a habit of sticking my foot in my mouth, we're going to call it like it is. Cheap.
My wife once confessed that she loves coming home from the grocery store with a receipt full of 99 cent purchases.
I didn't tell her, but it makes me a little giddy too.
When we were about to get married, my wife and I had to buy a bed. Rather than go to a store or even one of those mattress warehouses like normal people, we found an ad for a guy selling beds at a super reduced rate. He was in school and as a side job, bought mattresses at wholesale and sold them out of a rented storage unit.
When we got there to select our new bed, we (of course) chose the cheapest option. Compared to all the plushy pillow top mattresses next to it, our new mattress looked like a couple pieces of cardboard sewn together.
We still feel good about our purchase because it lasted about 5 years, but we've reached the beginning of the end. I don't know if it's the box spring or the mattress, but if I have to shift my arm or even my pinky toe during the night, the creaking sounds like a logger is sawing down a Redwood in our bedroom.
The upside? Now it's harder to hear the trains that blast their horns a few blocks away at 3 a.m.