I learned long ago that everyone is afraid of something. Even the most rational have their own quirky, irrational fears and as long as that fear doesn’t interfere with their day to day life (like a lifeguard with hydrophobia – fear of water – or exterminator with arachnophobia – fear of spiders), I think people generally overlook their anxiety and find a way to push on.

I’m afraid of spending money, which I learned this week is called chrematophobia. I’m a chrematophobiac (Chrematophobiate? Chrematophobiac?). No matter the correct term, I don’t like spending. It seems to be my irrational fear and I can prove it. I have shoes that I still wear daily but leave me with wet feet every time it rains because water seeps through the holes on the bottom of the soles. I buy socks in bulk (30 pairs for $2 – sounds good at first, then you put them on and understand why so cheap). My cell phone is only a few short years away from being bar mitzvahed; and I hold a wake for any food in the refrigerator that’s become too green and furry to eat. Some people might call this being cheap, but I call it... actually, I call it being cheap too, but until my health insurance provider recognizes it as a medical disorder, I have to find my own way to deal with it.

I’m not wasteful. I like having a sense of financial security that money will be in my savings account when I absolutely need it. Like most young married couples, my wife and I hit a financial bump in the road early on, leaving us to pull apart the couch cushions for spare change to buy boxed macaroni and cheese. The feeling still sticks years later. Of course, now we’ve built up somewhat of a savings account and I’ll even buy the occasional cup of burnt gas station coffee, which leaves me with the fear that afterward, my car will break down and I fall exactly $1.50 short of being able to fix it. Oh, cruel irony.