Pay at the pump, please!

So I married the perfect guy. Really, I did. BUT, I have learned that if I want to have any money in our piggy bank when we retire, he is NOT allowed to go into the store to pay for the gas. He inevitably comes out with at least $12 worth of the most non-tempting candy in the entire store, and yet another pair of $6 sunglasses.  Sadly, this is just part of his collection…placed ironically–but not strategically, I tell you– next to my favorite piggy bank.  Oh well.  I will happily survive this road trip we call life without good candy and rolls of Susan B. Anthony coins.  At least I have my sa-weet Mikey.  And eyeshades.  And orange circus peanuts.