Every three months or so (usually coincided with when I finally muster the courage to look at my bank account), it becomes painstakingly clear that I’m not rich, and the likelihood of me becoming rich any time soon is slim to none.
I knew when I decided to be a teacher that I wouldn’t be able to maintain a lifestyle where I spend my days brunching with socialites and shopping at the expensive end of the Galleria. But a little voice inside my head would ever so often whisper, “marry a rich dude” and so there was always a fleck of hope.
All hope was crushed when I fell for, married, and procreated with a car salesman.
At least the brunch menu at Jack in the Box is delicious…
I admit I am in a constant state of denial about my lack of financial fortitude. I have bouts of shopping binges that ruin any hopes of me ever having a substantial savings account. Stores like Lululemon should never be a place I frequent. What business does a teacher – who also has a child – have buying a $120 pair of leggings? But I can’t help my self. Have you seen my ass in those leggings? It’s fantastic.
I can’t wait for this future conversation to go down:
Jackson: Mommy, can I have some money for college?
Me: Sweetie, mommy blew your entire college fund on luxury athletic apparel and mimosas.
But I digress. The worst aspect about my economic condition is that I am surrounded by rich people who literally can’t relate to my suffering. The other day I was at the gym chatting it up with a woman who lives in my neighborhood. Where we live is interesting in the sense that it is a mix of older homes built circa 1950 and huge mansions built circa yesterday. I automatically assume everyone who looks somewhat close to my age (30ish) probably lives in a tiny bungalow like we do, not the towering compounds that have started to take over every block. We all know what happens when people assume:
Me: It’s amazing how quickly these huge houses are being built.
Pretty little blonde gal with perfect teeth: Yeah, these builders do such a great job.
Me: We are looking to move into something bigger, but who can afford these houses? I mean they are ridiculously expensive! Over a million dollars for a house that’s only like three bedrooms!?! Who has that kind of money anyway? Who would ever want to spend that on a house!
PLBGWPT: *blank stare*
Me: (in the tiniest sliver of a whisper) Whoooo does that?
PLBGWPT: Me. *Forces awkward smile and suddenly vanishes*
Me: *dies a little*
But seriously, how in the hell? Are there that many jobs out there that have ginormous salaries? And if there are, why didn’t anyone mention them to me when I proclaimed teaching as my career choice? It would have been nice if someone -anyone – would have said, “hey, teaching is great buuuuut here’s like 175 other jobs that pay ten times as much that you can do.”
In reality, I only know like two people my age who are loaded and they are both useless trust fund babies. Is there a surplus of 30-something trust fund babies populating mansions in the greater Houston area? Man, I would kill a baby deer if I could be a trust fund baby.
At the end of the day, I should count my lucky stars I married someone who actually is wise with money and does a great job of putting food on the table, even if that table isn’t located in a 2.5 million dollar home. Truth be told, if it weren’t for my husband, I’d probably be living under the 610 overpass in a tarp fashioned from Lulu scarves and hoodies.