Before you judge another person based on how little money they spend or can spend, ask yourself how very different their privileges have been in comparison to yours.
Did you ever worry growing up about how you'd pay for a field trip—because you knew things were tight at home, and you didn't want to bring that burden on your mom? Did you ever wonder where you'd live when the eviction notice came, and you were the first to see it, so you didn't want to tell your mother? Your mother who had single-handedly and solely provided all the love, nourishment and care you and your sister needed your entire lives. The mother who worked tirelessly to pay the bills each month, only to barely make ends meet. The mother who did anything and everything she could to make sure you didn't know what it felt like to have less, but money made her efforts difficult. The mother you watched broken down from the stress of bills and jobs, and how much you wished you could help.
Did you get a babysitting job the second you turned twelve just so you could afford those fancy things your friends had, or even just one of those things, just to feel normal—to feel like you didn't have less. Did you work a job from the age of sixteen so you could buy your own clothes, afford to go out to dinner and movies with your friends just even a few times?
Did you have any idea how these things felt, when you called me cheap? No, I'm not cheap. But what I am is aware, so very aware. Aware of how expensive everything is, aware of how valuable each and every dollar is. Aware of the clearance rack and how to save money, aware of how much love there can be in a family where one parent compensates for two. Aware that if I spend that extra dollar, or even two, of how much I am really wasting. Aware of how much more you gain when you have less. Aware of what it's like to have less but grow to have so much more that no material could ever replace.
I bet you had no idea, when you said the utmost insensitive thing you could have ever said to me.