A lot of people I know think that I’m a Debbie Downer. It’s because of my flat affect – I look morose most of the time. When I play ping pong with that dour, cheerless look, it’s infectious and the guy I’m playing with for 20 minutes usually ends up either wanting to quit table tennis altogether or just slitting his wrists. But let me tell you something, that ill-natured visage belies what I’m really like. I happen to bring joy to the world. It’s true, and I’m going to share with you my little secret for inducing such happiness and mirth in others. Maybe even jubilation. It would be practically a crime against humanity not to disclose this wizardry of mine, so I’m passing along this confidential, hush-hush stuff in order for you to use it, too. (Editor: What munificence!)
A few of my so-called friends have approached me recently and have asked me – rather bluntly I might add – why I am so cheap, and they have even had the temerity to accuse me of never having bought anything at my Shoprite that wasn’t on sale. First of all, I reject their assertions about my cheapness because they have no idea where I have or what I do with my money. (Even my own brother calls me a cheap bastard. How many times do I have to correct him and tell him that I’m not a cheap bastard, I’m a frugal bastard.) … And what’s wrong with having the discipline, prudence and patience for waiting for the half-price sales at the supermarket anyway? Nevertheless, I end up forced to explain myself and, regretfully, I do so rather defensively. I disclose to them a long-held secret about most of my cash being under my mattress (I count it before I go to sleep every night, plus a thief would never look there!) and then I finally admit that all my money, month after month, has been going into perpetual care. Most of these detractors and disparagers of the truth don’t know what that is – they should – so I have to spell it out for them. It’s something that they should explore. It’s an investment into their own futures – it’s not just for me.