Monday, August 22, 2005

How much was that again? No...again?!

A friend just emailed me, a bit distressed over the demonstrative reactions to a material possession another friend showed recently. I can relate. I hate it when people evaluate others based on what they buy.

I have a lot of pet peeves, so labeling this as such is probably unfair to other people who are generally easygoing but who have a few things which irritate them from time to time. That is not me. I have a list of things which drive me insane which goes a mile long, and money is one of them. I can't stand money. Upon marrying my husband, I told him, "I'm direct depositing my paycheck into our account. Here is the information for my savings, retirement, and any other coin I happen to have loose in my sofa. I do not want to ever see this information again. I just want my credit card to work when I swipe it."

My husband is resilient and survived that little trip back to 1950 just fine. We live in an age where a married couple can very easily have three bank accounts (I would suffocate myself) and it's just as usual for the woman to be the financial head of household (I would rather pull out my hair strand by strand than balance our checkbook).

This is how I feel about money: a lot of people have a lot of it. A lot of people don't have a lot of it. I could not care less about either situation. The only time I mention the cost of something is when I'm 1) extremely proud to have paid a shrimpy price for a nice item; 2) think the item is ridiculously overpriced (which reminds me, I need to do a blog on gasoline prices) or 3) when the person I'm talking to won't shut the hell up about money and I want to purposely irritate them.

I'm very equal opportunity about my lack of interest in money (warning: not much of this next paragraph will make me seem the least bit like a person of good, giving character). I have little interest in the financial status of anyone from whom I can not benefit from said status. In other words, everyone outside of my household. I don't spend time thinking about who has money and who doesn't. The wealthiest people I know do not cross my mind in terms of money, except for those times I wait for us to be next invited to go to Tokyo or some other exotic place with a friend we have who bleeds dollar bills. The poorest people I know, down to the beggar on New York Avenue, do not cross my mind in terms of money either. Instead, I am concentrating on being sure I don't whish past him too fast and cause him to spill over into the street.

Apparently, a recent Washington gathering resulted in a whole lot of conversation by The People Who Think They Are Rich about the possessions of the People Who Are Rich. I received a request to vomit from a friend who is just sick of this type of conversation and granted it.

This post, babe, is for you.

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