Gratiuty Not Included

J-Fed and I have a long-running argument, just one of many I assure you. It’s regarding the tipping scale. Now, I’m not about talking how the scales tip in regards to responsibilities. If that were the case, his end would be down on rock bottom and mine would be, well, out of this world. There’s no comparison there.

I’m talking about tipping, as in, gratuity. Let me first begin by pointing out the sheer irony in the fact that when it comes to J-Fed and the amount of gratuity he pays me, it’s none. That’s right nada. I may get a half-ass “thank you” on occasion, but they’re few and far between. Why, you ask, Because it’s my job to do things for him. When I said “I do” J-Fed apparently heard the words “I will,” as in I will do your laundry, cook your meals, pay your bills, clean up your messes, maybe even wipe your butt if need be.

So I guess we really had two very different perceptions on marriage from the get-go. While I assumed I was entering into a partnership for life, J-Fed must have mistaken me for some mail-order bride that comes complete with accessories – hands to sweep and mop, feet to navigate through the grocery store and a mouth to sing his praises. Obviously, what he was looking for got lost in the mail. The Kiki doll had a mouth but the only thing it was made for was nagging.

Back to the problem at hand, J-Fed believes that 20% is hardly a fair tip. He’s been known on more occasion than one… Strike that, he’s been known on every occasion to leave a big fat tip whether it’s the waitress, the bartender or even the gal that cuts his hair. I think even Miss Manners would want to slap the Fedster silly upon hearing about this kind of squandering. .

Just this week, I found three receipts that made me want to hurl. $33.70 for beer and wings= $26.30 tip. $50.00 for six beers and two orders of wings = $50 tip. $30 haircut = $20 tip. For a long time, I wondered why the girls at the establishments he frequented looked at him like Santa Claus every time he walked through the door. Now, I realize it’s because he thinks he is Santa Claus. Newsflash, J-Fed, last time I checked your name wasn’t Kris Kringle

Yes, J-Fed loves to throw away cold hard cash.

After finding the umpteenth receipt with a 50% tip, I had to call him on his crap. Unless they were servicing him in some way that’s probably illegal in 48 states, there was no reason on God’s green Earth that J-Fed should be tipping 50%. I’m his friggin wife and I didn’t even get that kind stipend.

So I asked Daddy Big Bucks what gives… His reply? “They work hard for the money.”

I looked at him with shock and dismay as he went for the gut. Read between the lines, I interpreted that as J-Fed implying that while waitresses, bartenders and hairdressers work “hard,” Kiki does not. He then went into some shcpiel about how many of his relatives had worked in the hospitality industry and he felt they deserved to be paid more. And he felt it was his calling to fill this void.

For a moment, I expected him to break out into choruses of “She Works Hard For the Money.” Now, I’m pretty sure than even Donna Summer would agree that although I may not pour beer or serve chicken wings by night, I most certainly worked just as hard for my money.

And this is the man who couldn’t fathom why at Christmas time, I tip the lawn service, the garbage men and the cleaning lady. But you already pay them, he whined. Why do you need to tip them too? I guess I could pose the same question to him.

Instead, I think I’ll just start leaving a check along with his meals. Maybe then he’ll be just as inclined to leave a tip for me. Or maybe I should leave J-Fed a tip of my own.

Keep tipping the waitresses and bartenders 50% daddy big bucks, and they’ll be serving all your meals.