The Boy and I are currently planning where we want to go on vacation. I want so badly to go on a three-day cruise to the Bahamas. I want a vacation of fun and sun. All of the prices are so tantalizing: if I wanted to go on a cruise by myself, I could totally swing it. Unfortunately, The Boy doesn’t have the adequate amount of funds to fund a cruise, and I can’t afford to take the both of us, so I guess there’s no cruising for us.

In reality, in light of all of the frugality blogs that I’ve been reading lately, it would seem silly to spend money on a cruise. (I’m not quite sure how I feel about that sentiment, though: I realize that vacations can be frivolous; but all work and no play…)

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In not-so-fun news, I am getting a biopsy when I get back from my business trip in Atlanta on March 5. I seem to have been nursing a strange growth on my foot since about September, and as the podiatrist says, “It’s not common for a healthy 23-year-old to have a something not heal.” In addition to having whatever’s on my foot biopsied, I will also have to have the bone biopsied, because my x-rays showed some infection-like growth on it.

Best-case scenario: it’s a cyst, and gets biopsied, and I get stitched, and I should be fine.

Not-quite-best-case scenario: it’s a cyst and a bone infection, and I have to take antibiotics (either oral, or in an IV).

Worst-case scenario: melanoma or carcinoma.

Needless to say, I’m trying not to panic. The podiatrist doesn’t seem to think that it’s cancer, but does absolutely want it biopsied. I’m just going to try and keep things mellow, and thank God that I have health insurance. …If I didn’t, I’d probably just let my foot rot off, kill me, and use my employer-provided life insurance cover my funeral expenses.

But the part that’s the super-kicker: I’m spending my entire really nice bonus on medical bills. This shit blows. I’m not old enough to have to make this choice.

In our long-distance relationship, Friday night has been declared date night. This works out perfectly for The Boy and I, because he has had a standing winter engagement remodeling the bathroom in his parents’ summer cabin on Saturdays. Sundays are dinner at the in-laws house, which doesn’t afford us a lot of alone time, so we go out every Friday night.

The Boy and I are in off pay periods, which is nice, because 52 weeks out of every year, we have money coming in. Not every couple can be this lucky. In part, this means that every other week, one of us is responsible for paying for the date. This also helps defray the cost.

The other thing that we’re trying to do is cut down on the cost of eating out. We’ve done some good currently, in the sense that we don’t eat out at steakhouses, or other super-fancy dining, but we do drop some cash. The Boy enjoys all three courses of a meal, so that’s extra on the bill. And don’t forget: not only do you pay for the food, but you tip, too, so it’s not just $5.99 for a Moons Over my Hammie.

Last night was nice, because The Boy and I ate for $3.50. And though I recognize that it’s not the healthiest of choices, we found ourselves at The Boy’s favorite burger joint. I got a single cheeseburger; The Boy got a double, three cookies, and a water to drink. No fries, no value meals (some value), no soft drinks.

I did not need a gigantic burger, neither did The Boy, and we went the smart route by getting water; which I realize doesn’t taste as good (and honestly, I rarely get water with my meals), but fast food places will gouge the shit out of you on drinks. And that tiny burger was enough for me, and it seemed like the double was enough for The Boy (he did, after all, inhale three cookies).

We were well-behaved, and cut down our date night to about $32, roughly. (We went to a movie: the tickets murdered our date night budget, and we got stuff from the concession stand, another new thing that I don’t want to spend money on. But, we did get the smallest popcorn that they had and shared a large drink: but it still set The Boy back $8.50 – ouch.) In the future, we’ll probably hit the dollar theater, and find a way to cut down on concession costs.

Incidentally, we saw Juno. I thought it was a very good movie, and I was laughing through a lot of it. I think The Boy is the cheese to my macaroni…without the screaming infant.

I was talking to my co-worker about various and sundry things, and the topic moved to weddings (she’s getting married this year). Most of the time, I keep pretty mum on the topic of the relationship with my mother/parents: I try to keep it very simple, very unreadable – it’s just been…safer that way. For whatever reason, given the strife that I’ve had, specifically within the last week (this week has been eye-opening in the suck), I said something that I’ve been stewing in for years: since I’ve started dating at 16.

Me: I gotta be honest with you; my mother would be thrilled to find out that I broke up with [The Boy], canceled the wedding, and just stayed single until I was thirty.

[Co-Worker]: Are you serious? Does she not like [The Boy], or…?

Me: I don’t know. I think she’d be happy if I were marrying a lawyer, or a doctor, or a financial planner later in life. But she just doesn’t want me to get married. Like I said, she’d be thrilled if I broke up with [The Boy].

[Co-Worker]: That’s kind of sick….

Yeah, it is. But it’s true. She’d admit that she’d be thrilled, too, if I ever had the stones to confront her on it.