By Victoria Secunda 

here are times in a woman's life when only a  new blouse or scarf or lipstick—name your mood elevator—will cure the blues.  If you're single, such mental health purchases pose no problem; you take the goodies home and repent at leisure, because who's to know?  If you're married, though, it's hard to keep the bills—especially for a blues-busting fashion purchase —a secret. 

Most husbands don’t raise a ruckus if you buy, say, a pair of galoshes, a no-brainer in the joint checking account department.  Only a cretin would object to the practicality of such an item.  You gotta keep your feet dry in a storm, right?   And the uglier the galoshes, the higher the husband approval rating.  

But let's say that as you head toward the shoe department of a store, you spot a Calvin Klein sweater on sale, marked down from $500 to $75.  You try it on.  It's just your size and it makes you look like a size six Park Avenue socialite.  You lust for this item, a passion you haven't felt since high school when Chuck, the hunk, asked you out on a date.   "I'll take it," you say huskily to the salesperson who cheerfully rings up the transaction. Now comes the crunch:  How to pay for said purchase without later causing an ugly marital row, which typically goes like this:

 Husband:   “Hmmmm.  New sweater, I see.  How much?”

 You:   “Only $75.”

 Husband:  “Are you nuts? You think money grows on trees?  Do you  really need it?”

 You:  “No, I don’t need it.  I want it.  I can wear it to work.  It goes with everything I own. It makes me feel good.  And anyhow, it's on sale.”

Husband:  " ‘On sale,’ two words that should be expunged from the English language,  like I'm somehow richer because you spent the

money.  You've got a closet full of  clothes, and I wear socks with holes in them.  You don't see me buying stuff that isn’t absolutely necessary.”

You:   “Really.  What about the 72-inch television set, the battery-operated snow blower  that's still in the box it came in, the hi-tech tennis racquet that hasn't improved your  game?”

 Husband:  “That's different! “(Sound of door slamming.)

Here's a bit of brilliant advice a salesperson gave me years ago to prevent such squabbles.   When you spring for a feel-good fashion item, you don't want to leave a paper trail.  Instead, you spread the evidence around—call it money "laundering"—so that only a forensic accountant could put the pieces together and deduce the actual amount of money you spent. 

It's called "the Rule of Threes" and it works like this: You put one-third of the purchase price on your credit card, you write a check for one-third, and you pay the remaining third in cash. Now when you go home and your husband says, "New sweater?" you quickly say, "Why, yes!  And it only cost $25!" Chances are he'll narrow his eyes, tap a forefinger thoughtfully on his pursed lips, and say, "What's for dinner?"

Some people might construe the Rule of Threes as duplicity, dishonesty, anti-feminism, and manipulation.  Right, right, right, and right.  Because people who make such assumptions generally aren't married, and they sure as shootin' aren't female.  It's true that since you have a job you don't need anyone's permission to buy a lousy sweater; that you're a grownup and able to weigh the pros and cons of a decision.  But we're not talking "sensible" here; we’re talking desire, the need not to feel poor even if you are, the wish to at least look smashing on the outside when you feel like a car wreck on the inside.  And there's no explaining all that to most men.  So why try?

Why cause a fight when it's not as if you lost a bundle at the track?  Why mix it up in an area that stands a snowball’s chance in hell of ever making sense to a man? Think of the Rule of Threes as mercy shopping.  It's too cruel to expect a hunter to understand a gatherer —to think, in short, like a woman. So think like a man: This is business, not personal.  Don't spill your guts. Tell part of the story, and keep the details to yourself.  If necessary, lie.

You'll thank me for this.

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Victoria Secunda is the executive editor of MAKING BREAD magazine.