Today I Was A 1950s Housewife

At least according to Wells Fargo.

Tuesday it the day the babysitter relieves me of my precious one-year-old for a few hours so I can catch up on me. On my way home from doing some work in a reserved work-room at the library, I was all excited to deposit the federal tax return check (yeah, we filed late, don’t worry about it) so I could have money in my account without having to worry about transferring money from my husband’s account for awhile. We don’t have joint checking accounts, but with online banking and knowing my husband’s password, I’m free to transfer money from his account to mine any time I wish.

I pull into the drive-through and tell the lady I want to make a deposit. She sends a slip through the shoot and I send back the signed check, my ID, and my debit card.

She then informs me that she is very sorry but she can’t cash the check.

“Okay.” I answer smoothly. “Do I need his signature too?” That seems plausible and I can live with that (despite the fact that he just deposited our state tax refund in his account the other day when we went out to lunch and I didn’t sign it.)

“Well, it’s not that. It’s that he’s not on your account, so we need him to physically be with you. He needs to actually come in and get put on your account. You should call ahead to make sure he brings everything you need for him to get put on your account.”

So I tell her, that’s funny, because he just deposited our other check no problem. Nobody needed me for that even though my name was on that check too.

(And furthermore, we came in and sat down and signed up for these accounts together. How was it not noted that we are somehow connected by marriage then?)

It was just one of those whatever, ridiculous things and I didn’t make a big deal about it, it’s not the bank teller’s fault.

But really. As I was driving away it just kept niggling at me. This didn’t happen when Tim deposited the other check.

And it hit me forcefully upside the head.

I’m as powerless with our finances as a 1950s housewife. Even though I have no qualms about the fact that his money is our money,  (I spent a pretty penny of my own savings on our wedding and when he was in med-school. Our money is our money) and I transfer it to myself as I need it, I do find it very upsetting that there is this unbalance in our access to the money we share as perceived by our bank.

My name is on that check. I would have understood if they just need both of our signatures on the back.

But apparently I need to prove that it’s okay with my husband if that check goes in my account.

It’s not a big thing, but ick! The whole thing just rubs me the wrong way.

It’s so very I Love Lucy.