I have recently discovered there are times when being overly careful with your money can result in calamity.
Regular readers will know I have joined the long list of victims of this blasted virus thing and am no longer in full-time employment. To that end, Mrs P and I are trying to be a bit more careful with the pennies.
So when she said the other day she needed a pair of black pants I put my foot down.
Well, sort of.
Firstly, I'm simply not the kind of bloke who lays down the law in that fashion to the goddess who puts a smile on my chops every day. I just don't believe I have any right to do that.
Secondly, if I did, I think there would be a suspension of er, shall we say, "diplomatic relations" which I doubt I'd be able to handle much longer than ... well, an hour basically.
But, like most blokes I'm sure, I settled into the tried and tested "Hmm, do you really think you need them?" routine, which is basically a way of making the other party feel so guilty they won't go ahead with the purchase.
I'm somewhat embarrassed to say that it worked but Mrs P turned the tables on me and made me feel like an absolute toerag by muttering dejectedly: "Oh well, I suppose I can wear these old ones".
At this point, I should point out the black pants were part of a uniform Mrs P wears for work. They are both hideous and way too tight, despite the overseas label confidently assuring the wearer they are her size. I'm sure you've had the same experience yourself.
An inspection by my guilt-ridden self discovered an elastic waistband in the horrible pants. I figured I could stretch them a bit, thus allowing Mrs P some comfort and our bank balance a reprieve.
Now I'm not a puny bloke by any means but it would be fair to say the elastic put up a hell of a fight before I heard and felt some give. But it wasn't enough.
So while Mrs P was out of the room I had another go. This time I put my foot on one end of the elastic and yanked with both arms on the other. Eventually I felt it give. I'd won. A couple more little ripping noises and we were there. Job done.
And Mrs P was happy too. As she raced out the door the next morning she said they were a lot more comfortable and loose. Job well done.
I stood at the door and watched her go down the path. And just as she got in the car I saw it. A large hole in the seat of her pants.
Actually what I saw was her orange undies flashing like a beacon through the hole I'd obviously ripped open and neither of us had spotted. Laughter quickly turned to shock as I walked down the path to the car intending to reveal the unfortunate news. But I was too slow.
Before I got to the car she was driving off. I shouted out and ran after her for 10 metres but she got away.
In a panic now, I tried to ring her on her mobile as I raced back to the house to get the keys for the other car and go after her. She wouldn't answer while driving. Would she?
Not a chance. I'd have to go after her.
Now, we live across town from Mrs P's work. I caught sight of her in the distance a couple of times but it seemed like every set of traffic lights was against me - the orange one a stark reminder of the humiliation that would befall her if I didn't get to her in time.
Eventually, I got to the carpark and just grabbed the nearest free park I could see. I was out of the car and running milliseconds after the motor died.
Luckily, Mrs P is one of these people who has to check and recheck her bag(s) to make sure she's got everything before she disembarks. Those few precious seconds proved hugely important.
As her door opened I was there, blurting out breathlessly: "There's a rip in your pants and I can see your bum".
Naturally, she wasn't too pleased with my handiwork but luckily her boss is of an understanding disposition and after being appraised of the situation she allowed Mrs P some time to sort the issue.
And that's where our plans to keep an eye on our spending went out the window. She had to go out and buy a new pair of black pants.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to email@example.com