Arriving home, after dipping into his one dollar bill savings account to pay for fuel (never spend a one dollar bill for three months, keeping the stash in a drawer, a cigar box, or behind some books in your burgeoning library), the "ordinary American" goes through his stack of mail: a company newsletter, retail ads, and a couple of letters from big-time and small-time politicians. 

The big-time politician has a national arena to oversee and nothing short of the Supreme Court is on the line.  The small-time politician is throwing a party and he asked for twenty-five bones.  If he decides to attend, the "ordinary American" will likely get some brisket, some kind of bread and barbeque sauce, and a side of potato salad.  He's on a diet, however, having been drawn into a ridiculous weight-loss contest at the office, mostly because he spent January and February in front of the television, hooked on election results and analysis from an assortment of people in the biz. 
Yes, the lucky recipient of today's mail ate a lot of his favorite rich foods in those months and sat smoking his delicious, Belinda Black cigars as well.  It was all quite stressful. 

Now, in July, he realizes that some of the worry was for nothing.  Events played out and no amount of talking back to assertions being made on TV tipped the results either way.  He could have slugged it out at the gym more.  He could have mixed in some oatmeal, a few carrots.  What is it about Italian food in February that just seems so right?

Well, all he knows for sure is that it's a little bit hot for a barbeque, so he decides to run the numbers.   

Even allowing for the inevitable impulse book purchases and the times when he can't take it anymore and he has to have the good stuff at one of his favorite restaurants (just give him, for godsake, the Sicilian butter and the bread, the creamy red sauce, and the ultra rich chocolate dessert), the potential contributor can probably make room for a donation or two between now and November.  True, the car could break down.  Someone else could (and no doubt will) come along and ask him for a favor.  And he's saving for a trip (a trip!) next spring. 

Decision time: he opts out on the party but chucks forty in the mail for the up-and-comer.  The guy can go buy a few stamps or cover the bread that he bought for the party.  The big-time pol has hope: the "ordinary American," as it were, is one determined saver of one dollar bills, even if he does have an appetite.