The True Meaning of Generosity

From a born tightwad

The world is full of effortlessly generous people, but, for all my efforts, I’m not one of them. My attempts never land with the easy class of natural-born givers.

I do do the generosity, I do - only with the grimacing disposition of a workhouse owner, finally accepting the concept of weekends.

Picture the scene: a man carrying four pints towards a pub table. In proud defiance of his small hands, tight fists and all-known physics. If I don’t pause and remind myself, “I’m not cheap,” my face wears the pinched displeasure of a most unnecessary outlay. 

Or, worse still, presenting a few packs of scampi fries, like the bestowment of a royal dowry. That’s for.. you, that’s for.. you, that’s for… you and that is… for… you. Cue: gratitude.

Even a whiff of performative generosity stinks out a gesture. Pimping, not for pimping’s sake, but for the public accolades of pimpery - which may well be the current state of pimping, but it is certainly not what pimping was, back when pimping was pimping: coercing vulnerable women into prostitution.

There is not a penny pinched by this tight arse. As I previously mentioned, I am Generous - which, from what I can gather, is judged on the frequency you bring it up, and from what you can gather. Still, these stingy twinges undermine every act. 

Oddly, I don’t give a flying fuck about the money - take ten units of airborne coitus for all I care. Any regrets only ever have the lifespan of a hungover groan. 

This reflexive tightness must have been wound into me. The global scientific community is racing towards the discovery of the parsimonious chromosome. No news yet. 

Fortunately, I have had the privilege of knowing many wonderful friends who have taught me the true meaning of generosity. And I successfully leached off ‘em for years. Chumps! 

Then again, there is a wealth of difference between tight and broke. As that old strip club proverb goes: you can’t make it rain, when there’s a leak in your kitchen roof. In my defence - the core theme of my writing - I was only ever skint from misallocating all my worldly resources on pills and fried chicken. It was out of my hands. 

The daily operation of my self-run, peer-funded charitable foundation was one of the most fruitful experiences of my life - both financially and otherwise. From my friends, I learned: to give is the greatest gift of all. Corny though that may be, some of life’s most profound lessons are found in the magnetised teachings of fridge doors. 

To all you tactical shoe-lacers, why not give entering a pub first a go for once? Let out those purse strings, every so often. The afterglow is extremely remunerative, I find. Worth every penny.

For now, that closet miser still scrimps to the surface at the point of sale. My bounded generosity will have to do. Maybe one day I’ll cover a Valentine’s meal without retching at the reveal of the receipt. Seems you really can’t buy class - but I’ll give it a damn good go.