NEW YORK (FORTUNE) - Some 10 years ago, before I married my husband, whom I adore, I became freakily frugal for a period. Once, for a three-month period, I tracked on Quicken every penny I spent: $7 dry cleaning; $2.55 bagel, coffee, tax; $4.55 pantyhose.

Even though I made a fine salary and owned a nice pre-war apartment and often dated the kind of (jerky) guys who drove Porsche Carreras, I was well on my way to becoming an overly-cautious, coupon-clipping, money curmudgeon.

I was on the verge of getting a cat.

So before I openly vent about my darling husband, I have to say that he has helped me be less neurotic about spending. Still, here are some of my beefs about David and dollars:

A month ago my husband made out a check for tens of thousands of dollars for a real estate transaction. He put the check in regular mail and lo and behold, it got lost. After I overnighted a replacement to the agent, the lost check turned up and was mailed back to us. The kicker: Turns out my darling had forgotten to fill in the "To" field.

Magically, some stranger isn't suddenly five figures richer, living it up in Vegas.

...accompanied by a look of horror and foreboding. Since David has some separate accounts for business purposes, and I do all the family accounting, occasionally I'll open a bill addressed to him thinking it's ours.

The most recent one: the phone company threatening to cut off his personal phone line unless he ponied up a couple hundred dollars. (He did. In fact, now he has an assistant who makes sure the bills get paid.)

Fortunately, this only happens occasionally, though we've somehow accumulated a nice collection. "Oh, it's special and I got a great deal. It goes for $200 at Morrell," he'll say.

Then he forgets to tag them with prices, something I nag him to do so we know to separate the good stuff from the cheap stuff. Sometimes when we're enjoying a $12 pepperoni pizza I'll remark on how good the wine is. "Oh, that was the Sangiovese," he'll say. Oh well, any occasion with my husband is a special occasion.

We are fortunate enough to belong to a nice golf and tennis club but, in his mind, the charges my golf-obsessed husband incurs don't seem to exist. I can hear him think, "It's not like unpaid utility bills." They're not going to confiscate the custom-fitted, pro-class Taylor-Mades. Note to club: I always end up paying the bill, so don't expel us.

"Gosh, I can't find any of my credit cards," he'll say sometimes. I admittedly secretly revel in this and even deviously hope to prolong his suffering. No cards, no charges. Cause who wants to pay cash? Unfortunately they often turn up in a couple of days in a gym bag or previously worn jacket. He needs a man-purse, but he's way too stylish for that. Did I mention the Italian tailor...?

Now the silver lining to all of this: Without David, I would probably be drinking cheap Chardonnay rather than Puligny Montrachet. I'd be staying at Rodeway Inns instead of the Ritz. I'd be driving a clunker rather than a sleek, safe car for a family of four. So despite his money flaws, he's made our life much, much richer in so many ways. With no cats.

P.S. Did I mention I adore him?

See the man's point of view: Help! My wife can't handle money

Also: MONEY magazine's exclusive survey of why couples fight and will your arguing lead to divorce?

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Got gripes with how money is handled in your household? E-mail us at yourhome@money.com.