Party Like It's 1929

The financial statements have been rolling in, along with a surprising dearth of credit card offers: The mutual funds, the IRAs, and any day now, the 401(k) statement will arrive to drive the point home that we'll be working well into our geriatric wonder years.  I've decided I'm not going to open any of them. What's the point?  My satisfying but unlucrative career already has me living with a Great Depression, one-foot-in-the-gutter mentality.  For many years now, I've not only lived within my means but slightly (very slightly) beneath them.  I'll just carry on.  I just recycled my first green tea bag this morning.  I still haven't purchased a fall handbag.  My hair has offensive dark roots.  I've been clearing out the closet to sell off anything of even modest value.  Gently-used Uggs are fetching upwards of $200 on eBay!  My Betsey Johnson party dress with no place to go is now on consignment for $150.  So tonight, in a long gray party sweater (from Target), I'll wrap my arms around my 30-year fixed mortgage, order a boatload of thai from Wild Ginger and drink vino, vino, vino in the kitchen with some burds.