It is virtually impossible to remember that I was once an economics major at Northeastern University.

Naturally, I have to spend the most amount of money possible in any situation. When it came time to buy a backyard grill, I had to have a Weber, something in the area of $500. This week, I decided to take the tank in for a refill for the approaching summer grilling season.

Surprise.

The friendly man at the propane store said I was a very nice person, uncommonly good to my ex-mother-in-law, a good customer and all that, but he couldn’t fill the tank. Something about a new federal law written by the profane propane manufacturers, no doubt.

No problem. I went off to Wal-Mart, traded the old tank in and brought home a new one. Cost: $15 and change.

Problem. The tank would not fit the highfalutin Weber attachments. It was back to Wal-Mart to return the $15 tank and off to the high-pop local hardware where I bought the $500 grill in the first place. The new connector was $20, but I couldn’t fit it on the old tank because of the new (Ptui!) federal law. I had to buy a new $30 tank to go with the $20 connector. The total cost was $52, $48 with taxes and all, and I still had an empty tank.

Back to the original propane store for a fill-up, finally. That was just short of $10. That meant the first grilled meal of the season already cost $62 and I hadn’t even bought the chicken breasts yet.

To get the deck ready for the grilling season I decided to replace three boards, which had rotted to the point of danger to the pedestrian traffic, especially one Matthew Vanderzee, also known as Grandson. It was off to the black hole known as the hardware store. (Same one.)

I bought a 16-foot board and strapped it on the four-wheel-drive V-8, extended-cab monster I just had to buy last year. With the exception of one snowstorm, it was the first time I actually needed a huge truck. I drove home the long way, feeling very manly with a board strapped to my truck racks. I felt a little less manly when I realized I bought a 2-inch board when I needed a 1-inch board. I sheepishly crept up to the hardware store counter and confessed to my 2-inch sin. They said I could replace them with 1-inch boards as long as I gave them an extra $4. I had stupidly expected a refund.

With a perfectly straight face, the hardware clerk said 1-inch boards cost more than 2-inch boards because “they are a better grade.”

I paid.

To complete my financial misdeeds, I found out that my very favorite singer, Bonnie Raitt, is touring with my second-favorite singer, Lyle Lovett. I was ready to go to Atlanta for the concert when I learned they added a date in New Jersey on Aug. 10. Hell, that’s only an eight- to 10-hour drive. A lot closer than Atlanta. I checked the Raitt Web site to see if there was anything closer. There wasn’t.

I made the leap of faith and ordered two tickets along with the usurious charge tacked on by the unidentified (guess) ticket pirate, for a mere $140. Then I made a hotel reservation nearby, for another $90.

You can guess the rest.

The Sunday Globe noted that the concert also added a Boston date on Aug. 7 and 8.

Judge John called from New Hampshire on Monday morning to say that he was ordering Raitt-Lovett tickets for the Boston date from the same ticket pirate. He wanted to know if I wanted any. The New Jersey tickets were not returnable to the ticket pirate, natch.

Now what?

After about 30 seconds I decided to get the Boston tickets too, reasoning that the drive to New Jersey would take 16 hours round trip plus a hotel, plus gas, plus meals. Another $140. But I could leech at my sister’s house in Boston to avoid an added hotel room to “save money.”

Save money. What a concept.

Maybe I should get a financial adviser.

Maybe I should go back to Northeastern for a master’s degree in economics.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.