Help, I'm married to a spendthrift...

I know, it sounds underwhelming. I can assure you it's not. Follow my lead here...

Over the last few days, I have spent an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out how to rid my mattress of the dog-piss stench that I'm pretty sure has taken on a life of its own.

I tried carpet cleaner (it's not just for carpets, you know). Didn't touch it.

I went to PetSmart and bought a spray bottle full of my very favorite pet-odor neutralizing agent, Nature's Miracle. Although it's certainly proved itself miraculous in the past, it just barely scratched the surface.

In desperation, I dumped more Nature's Miracle on the mattress and mixed it up with a nice big pile of baking soda, which has always worked for me before. Can you guess what happened...or better yet, what DIDN'T happen?

In a last-ditch appeal to save the Stearns & Foster, I asked Alex to try using an industrial-strength carpet machine on the bed - he did. And it didn't work.

I am led to two possible conclusions: 1) My dog has toxic pee and I will obviously need to get a Hazardous Waste symbol shaved into her side, OR 2) The urine has soaked very deeply into the mattress, in which case I will probably have to buy a new one.

Why does this have anything to do with my spendthrift husband?

Well, as wonderful as he is in so many ways, he has far more material needs than I. Yesterday I arrived home at 9pm to find a bummed-out Alex - the elliptical machine we bought from a guy on Craig's List for $100 broke. The whole thing didn't break, but something semi-critical to its operation broke - the display, a wiring harness, whatever the hell is inside those things.

When stuff like this happens, my instinct is usually to say, "We'll get it fixed," or (if need be), "We'll live without it for awhile."

Not so with the Hubster. He wants his elliptical and he wants it NOW.

I understand his pain - he uses the machine on a daily basis and has lost quite a bit of weight over the years through a regular exercise routine. When someone GAVE us an unbelievably nice (and new) treadmill, we bought the elliptical and set up a mini gym, in which he works out all the time. I get the terrible sense of loss he must be feeling at the sudden inoperativeness (inoperability??) of his beloved elliptical.

And yet...for some reason, I'm more concerned about obtaining a mattress on which I can sleep without nightmares of drowning in dog piss or being eaten by the mighty monster living deep inside the foam core under me.

Of course there is also the fact that Thanksgiving is coming up, which means we have to buy plane fare for Syd to get to and from the southern region of the U.S., where she lives most of the time.

And there is this camping trip that hubby arranged as part of our anniversary celebration in two weeks.

Not to be ignored is the tiny little issue of shodding our feet with wearable shoes, keeping a roof high and dry over our heads, and occasionally consuming edibles.

Don't misunderstand me - Alex has made many sacrifices over the years and he generally does not go out and buy things for himself, even though I know there are some things he wants more than anything in the universe. He is always careful to place the needs of others first and he does have a good sense of priorities - of course his daughter visiting us for the holidays and of course our traveling anniversary celebration is more important than a new elliptical. Still, it's hard NOT to sense his dissatisfaction with the way things are sometimes, and it's REALLY hard not to feel bad about it. Which then has the residual effect of making me grumpy.

I know there is poverty in the world and Alex and I certainly aren't the face of it - we generally live comfortably within our means. The problem is that for Alex, "within our means" has a slightly different ring to it. He's notorious for "needing" nice things, although admittedly he has picked up some very nifty cheapskate tricks from his feet-on-the-ground, realistic wife. I'm proud of his progress, but I wholeheartedly curse his need to REPLACE rather than FIX things. When I bring this maddening habit to his attention, though, I am immediately labeled with that great scarlet letter - N. For nag, of course.

I don't like being thought of as a nag, especially since if it was up to me, I would buy him everything his gigantic heart desires - he takes care of me well and I can't complain about that. But I sure do wish instead of having that giant N plastered on my chest, I could have a big S, Supergirl-style - S for Savior or Saint, S for Sane or Sensible, maybe even S for Sagacious or Shrewd.

But no. I get the N. Always with the N.

Alex, I love you, but you drive me batty sometimes. I know your dream life includes a lot of nice things around you, but in my dream world there is only you and a piss-free dog and a not-morbidly-obese cat in a small cabin in the woods.

Who needs STUFF anyway?

I have a feeling I'm going to be trying this vinyl-cover-for-the-mattress thing today. And I have a feeling it won't work. Then what? Only time (and money) will tell. I know one thing - if I have to replace this mattress again, I'm getting the cheapest one they've got. AND the vinyl cover.

t.