Today’s lesson in living life as though I was all growed up is never tell a construction contractor how much your paying for a job. I made that mistake this past week. Twice.

The thing is, I think we all operate on our own internal economies, and you can manage just fine if you know where your tolerances lie. I know for a fact I’m paying high for the work I’m getting done on the bathroom. I know it in the same way that I know a pork chop is gonna cost me the price of a pig if the menu is vellum, the napkins linen and the family name LaFitte appears on the wine list.

I also know that if the work is done right, it’s a wash in my overall investment, if I rent, and definitely when I sell. And, if it’s done on time (i.e. before Christmas), I get to enjoy it a bit longer and so does M. on what could end up being one of his last ever visits to my place.

It’s not a point of view that guys who can construct stuff can really grok. Why would you pay for stuff they could’ve done on the cheap?

My mom was like the construction guys. It was physically impossible for her to truly enjoy a four-star meal, because the guilt or consciousness over the real cost of the raw ingredients swamped the enjoyment. “$10 for an omelette? I could buy seven dozen eggs and have omelettes for months for $10.”

No distinction was made for skillful preparation and artistic flavors and presentation.

I think that mind set was partially responsible for why she lived so long allowing her house to collapse around her. The sense that if you could do yourself, or if a couple of friends helped out, or if you called around and got the best offer, all of those ifs, caused nothing to get done. Because, in the end, it’s almost as though if you can’t put in the sweat you’re not worth the extra expense.

I let my bathroom go for too long, too. Getting over that hump meant I needed a lot of extra hand-holding and assurances and guarantees and the contractors to return my calls and give me just a little bit more service. For that, I will pay.

I spend a lot of energy trying to live a bit happier or more contented than my mother, or trying to fathom her choices. I have the extra money to improve my house, my investment, my lot in life, because she lived frugally and sacrificed and left the cash behind. But, she lived many years untenably uncomfortable (e.g. turning the water off and on in the toilet rather than getting a leak repaired) and seemed so physically and mentally pained and exhausted by the time she died.

So, is that trade-off worthwhile? Struggling, but saving, versus spending freely and gaining some piece of mind? I realize the inherent indulgence of opting for the comfortable route, but I don’t truly understand the struggle just to save a couple of bucks for an unknown, possibly unrealized, future.

The other side to all of this nonsense about how much should my bathroom cost is a great lesson in human nature.

Not matter what, anyone in any given field will tell you that s/he could have done things better, faster, cheaper, prettier, whatever. Which gets me back to our own personal sense of economics.

In my world, I will pay well for someone to rip out walls, re-wire some ‘lectricity and build up tinker toys of PVC, so I can shower and shit in luxury. But, I will pay nothing for someone to hook up my computer, my network, my home entertainment center or install anything to make any of them work or do more things. Other people pay for that stuff, but I’m going DIY all by myself on that electronic shit.

I also do my own taxes with the help of that ‘puter, and there’re about 712 craft projects I would opt to figure out and not pay anyone to do.

Everyone has their own list of what’s worth doing and what’s worth farming out. Once you have that list worked out, it ain’t no thang to start writing the checks and lying back to watching someone else toil.