Clip on, clipper

I've taken on a new hobby.

I figured a new baby, a fledgling career in freelance writing, professional-grade pet hair removal, and other basic household tasks just weren't enough.

Enter the coupon clipping.

And I'm not just talking about scouring the Sunday circulars for a couple pennies off a can of Alpo folks, I'm trolling Web sites for free samples, mail-in rebates and big ticket manufacturer's discounts. If I didn't get that can of Febreeze for 35 cents last week, I'd say this was all pretty pathetic.

Nah, still pretty pathetic.

This morning I said to Greg, "Ooh, today is the Sunday paper! I can't wait to see what coupons are waiting for me!" Greg, my reporter husband, responded, "Really, coupons? Not the story I worked all week on?"

Oh yeah, that too.

My mom is an excitable partner in crime in all this, having picked up the habit during her more destitute days as a new mom in Phoenix. I remember her telling us about the time she unloaded on my dad for buying cans of 7-Up, rather than a two-liter bottle from the store that honored double coupons. It was a dark day in their marriage.

I feel like we're crossing another frontier in my move toward being a raging cliche. Get married, have baby, quit job, start a blog about motherhood, clip coupons, get an unflattering but sensible haircut, and cap it off with a drinking problem. More than halfway there, I reckon.

Driving home from Price Chopper on Wednesday, I called her to tell her how much I saved on groceries thanks to my savings measures. Fifty-eight dollars, I revealed after considerable build-up. She gasped. I told her they were having double coupons days. She gasped again. Just the reaction I was looking for.

That night after he returned from work I told Greg, who was also happy for me in a better-you-than-me sort of way. But then I made the mistake of expounding how I was able to finagle a 16 oz. bottle of Ken's Steakhouse Salad dressing for 75 cents. There was math involved, and detailed explanations of number-of-servings savings with getting a larger size. I watched the light flicker out of his eyes when I started in on why buying two was more economical than one. He raised one eyebrow -- and if you know Greg you know just the look I'm talking about -- and said, "Uhh, good?"

I asked him if he never wanted me to explain anything like that ever again. He nodded.

I don't blame him one bit. It's a pretty geeky hobby, and if you're not careful, you become like those people on "Extreme Couponing" who abuse the system and act put-out that those criminals at Gatorade expect to get paid for their product.

I got sucked into an episode while I was nursing June back in Winnetka in February. I watched in horror as the big lady with the rosacea snapped at grocery store employees because her nine-cart haul crashed their register's computer system. My jaw went slack upon seeing their storage space, stacked floor-to-ceiling with jars of Prego pasta sauce, packets of Top Ramen and Dial handsoap. I winced every time she blathered on about how much she loved couponing, which she pronounced "q-pawning." I decided she was what was wrong with America.

Then I thought, "Wait, I can do that!"

Last week at Price Chopper (double coupons!) I realized what am amateur I was. The left pocket of my coat was dedicated to coupons for items I had already placed in my cart, the right was for coupons I was contemplating using. I kept forgetting which pocket was designated for which and wound up inadvertently dropping fuel in the process, gasping as I watched my 50 cents off any Newman's Own product coupon flutter to the store's sticky floor. I snatched it up, blowing off the dust it had collected upon its descent, while my heart pounded at the thought of paying full price for microwave popcorn. June, in her carseat stuffed into the grocery cart, yawned and crinkled my $1 off Gillette Body Wash in her wet paw.

An attractive woman and her preteen daughter rolled past and I noticed a large binder lodged in the child's seat, full of plastic baseball card sleeves holding hundreds of coupons. They lingered in the room spray section and I watched as she flipped through her book, located her desired savings, and then cleared the shelves of dozens of Glade Plug-In refills. I felt that same hot flush of jealousy wash over me I used to feel when a classmate would saunter in with a new outfit on during non-uniform days. "I want that," I thought, ignoring the fact that most electric room deodorizer scents give me a headache.

June, normally a wonderfully patient grocery store companion, began to fuss while I compared Land O' Lakes butter with a coupon versus the cheaper store brand. I imagined she was saying in her bellow, "Jesus, just pick one already! What are you vacillating on, like a nickel savings?" Channeling her maternal grandfather, for sure.

My mom says these are habits that I'll take with me through our marriage, richer or poorer indeed, and that I'll never just willy-nilly throw things in the grocery cart that we don't absolutely need. I think that's a worthwhile lesson to learn.

I'll certainly remember that when my free sample of Efferdent arrives in the mail in eight to 12 weeks.

I can hardly wait.