Sweet Peas

"Linda, look at this," said Richard as he took several bags of frozen vegetables out of his shopping bag.
"What about them?" I asked.
"Ninety-six cents. They're the same as Birds Eye aren't they?"
I stared at the white freezer bags with the store brand on them.
"I don't think so." I answered.
"Those steamer bags are three dollars. You can't tell me these vegetables aren't just as good as those." Now he wanted to argue. Usually money burns a hole in his pocket. Lately I've seen him get on savings kicks and when he does, there's no stopping him. He ends up spending more than he saves.

I picked up one of the bags with a picture of corn and carrots and peas. "Why'd you buy this one?" I asked.
"It's only ninety-six cents," he answered.
"But it's peas." I handed him his glasses so he could see.
Richard hates peas and so do I. He tells stories how as a child he hid the peas from his dinner plate on a little ledge under the dining room table only for his mother to find all shriveled up a week later. In all the years of our marriage, I've never served him a single green pea.
"No way! I hate peas." He held the bag close to his face to examine it more closely.
"I'm not going to eat them either. I guess it's not such a bargain after all, is it?" I chuckled.
"Mix it up with rice or potatoes so I can't see the peas. Trick me somehow."
"And I still won't eat them. I hate peas too, remember?" Trick him! Huh! Like that would ever happen. If I cooked them, I'd already know where the peas were hiding.

"We have to eat them. I spent a dollar on them." Richard threw the bag into the freezer.
Our investment just moved up a whole four cents.

The bag of peas will happily chill in the freezer until the end of their days. I figure we might get our money out of them when one of us pulls a muscle and we need an ice pack. I guess that's as frugal as we're going to get when it comes to green peas. Penny wise. Pea foolish.