STRANGER THAN FICTION: FINANCIALLY INEPT COUPLE TRYING NEW APPROACH

Most married couples have a thrifty half and a happy-go-lucky half.

That works out well, because the first one keeps a roof over their heads, and the second one keeps them from being secretly mocked due to cheap Christmas gifts.

The Other Half and I used to be that way. He wanted to stay at the Hilton when we traveled, I argued for Motel 6. He wanted to eat at TGI Fridays, I argued for Shoney's.

I balanced our checkbook to the penny. I paid off the credit card bills from month to month. I bought toilet paper in bulk.

And then it happened.

In our second year of marriage, I gave up and crossed over. I haven't balanced a checkbook since, instead opting to let the account sit dormant for a few weeks every so often until it settles down and I get an accurate picture of my balance. Of course, by then my overdraft protection is into four digits.

Overdraft protection is an enabler for the financially inept. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

I just spent $40 for a bra and three pairs of panties. That's this month's cable bill spent on small pieces of clothing (sadly, they're not VERY small) that nobody will ever see but Mr. Half and me, and Mr. Half doesn't really care.

But I'm still the lesser of the two evils. When I realized our household's economic downturn a few years ago, I said something to Mr. Half.

"Honey, I just paid the bills, and we have $100 to live off of for two weeks," I said. "And we have to buy groceries."

He sneered. "That can't be right! Give me that."

I held out the checkbook register. "Uh, I'm not embezzling," I said. "I don't have some secret Swiss bank account."

The argument ended with him taking over all the bill paying. All I had to do was use my debit card and hand over my receipts every night.

The results were amazing. We didn't bounce checks. The bills got paid. We always had plenty of money.

And then we went on vacation and tried to check into a motel in Seattle.

The desk clerk asked for my credit card. I handed it over. He told me it was maxed out. I insisted that it couldn't be. Mr. Half eyeballed the ceiling. The desk clerk ran the card again and repeated that it wouldn't go through. He suggested the number had been stolen. I turned white.

Mr. Half didn't say a word as I handed over some cash and then rushed to the room to call Visa. I guess there's a private pleasure that goes along with watching your wife have a breakdown.

"We're not really seeing any unusual activity on the account, Mrs. Hall," the Visa customer service representative told me. I got the impression it wasn't her first time dealing with this sort of madcap situation. "Your last few charges were ..."

She read them off. They were all in our home city. They were all at clothing stores. I looked at Mr. Half. He looked at the ceiling.

I knew then that only one of us would live to see the Space Needle.

Our latest venture has been to keep separate checking accounts. Mr. Half bounced two checks the first week.

Now he's constantly borrowing money. When the bill comes at a restaurant, he just looks at it.

Mr. Half is a kept man.

As for me ... I'm going back to my old self. I nearly took my $40 in underwear back -- unworn, of course -- but decided not to.

It's a gift to the newborn, thrifty me.

And the gravy train stops here.

Heidi Hall is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.