When I turned 21, I received my first major credit card. No one told me to read the fine print. Unless the fine print told me to read the fine print the size of a flea, I didn't read it. I skipped over all that. My eyes went directly to the bold telephone number to call to activate my card.

Christmas in July is the best for buying clothes, going out to eat and flying to Padre Island with friends. I spent the better part of that summer saying, "Charge it!"

I was Paris Hilton. Slapping my credit card down on store counters before the sales clerk could say, "Will this be cash or charge?"

"Let me buy this round of drinks," I offered to my non-credit card holding friends.

Moments later, the waiter returned. Awkwardly, he whispered in my ear, "Ma'am, your credit card has been denied."

"That can't be right. I just used my card an hour ago at TGI Friday's."

There's no mistaking credit card denial: the sudden, intense, hot feeling on your face that everyone can see … rapid heartbeat and feeling like you're about to throw up.

How dare the credit card company limit my fun! In 30 days, I had a monkey on my back named MasterCard. When I opened my credit card statement I squinted at the numbers and began to hyperventilate. There's no way I owed $2,000! I thought.

My mother showed me no mercy. "If I can't afford it. I don't buy it." This came from a woman who fed her family of eight on less than $25 a week. She paid for incidentals with change. Change she hid underneath her bed in Folgers coffee tins. I would rather borrow money from a loan shark than from my mother. The few times she lent me money, she hounded me until I paid up. "Do you have the dollar you owe me?" I was not about to ask her for loan of this size — she might have broken my legs if I was late paying her.

Because I robbed Peter to pay Paul, my debts grew. My husband and I were dating at the time. We talked about getting married, but when I told him what I owed on my credit card — I suddenly looked less attractive. With no dowry and major credit card debt, I was forced to have a fire sale.

I sold my Pinto and purchased a used bike with a banana seat from a 12-year-old. Doing this probably saved my life. Because after I sold the car to my boss, Ford recalled the cars for exploding gas tanks. I sold all the furniture in my apartment. Within 30 days I was debt free and sitting comfortably in my apartment on an outdoor plastic recliner I purchased for $20 from Woolworth's Department Store. Now with a wedding approaching, I made the necessary arrangements and reapplied for another credit card under my soon-to-be new name, Kopulos.

This is why I take issue with certain ankle-biters who try and take charge on my credit card. The "No Child Left Behind" reform needs to include financial education for kids. For the life of me, I cannot make my kids understand that Visa is not a deceased aunt of theirs who left them an entertainment trust fund. This is my card, and I resent having to use it on them.

A common scenario at our house: "I need a new outfit for Picture Day."

"What about that pink dress I bought you three weeks ago?"

"It doesn't fit."

"Well … I don't have the money."

"Charge it!"

If I had a nickel for every time one of my kids said, "Charge it," I would have zero balance on my credit card.

Don't get me wrong, I still frequently say, "Charge it!" Just ask my husband. But this piggyback charging has got to stop. Get your own credit card!

To find out more about Mimi Kopulos and read her past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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