Whatever did happen to people taking care of their own business before digging in other's anyway?
It probably happened somewhere around the time of Facebook and The Real World that we all started to feel compelled to share our personal dilemmas and dysfunction in public ways.
I know, and yes, that is the sound of the kettle calling the pot black in the hypocritical distance.
While I really appreciate the people that take the time to read and respond, there are times it feels safe to share here and times that it feels quite invasive. I'm volunteering the information and I understand that. But people also need to recognize what's an appropriate comment and when is a good time to shut their pie hole, if you will.
Which brings me to a reader email from yesterday inquiring about my personal finances and the monetary agreement between Chris and myself.
You wouldn't ask a husband and wife who pays for what I don't imagine, but I suppose the lack of a martial title makes certain individuals feel it acceptable to wonder.
Chris and Chris's income are of no ones concern. He doesn't write here because, unlike my big mouth and hot headed self, he is very quiet with his life. Call it Ying and yang or opposites attracting or whatever you please.
As far as myself, I would never talk numbers. A molecular physicist I am not, but I also know a hot pink cheetah in an antiques shop when it runs by. To respond to the passive aggressive inquiry: I am not a babysitter and I do not make twelve dolla an hour. Chris does not pay for me, nor do my parents.
I also do not whore myself out for side monies to husbands whose wives are frigid and away at Core Power more often than not.
More importantly, I work hard always and work extra when necessary. I clip coupons, save when I want something major and sacrifice in other areas to snag things like new appliances or another month with my longtime personal trainer.
The female friendly LearnVest is a daily read. I also watch my Pennies on Mint and sink extras into investments with a low minimum requirement.
My parents are also financial wizards.
Most importantly, I live with zero debt.
After blowing myself out of the water with a five figure balance on my first credit card six years ago, I paid it off, shut it down and have somehow lived to tell about it. It's a humble principal that evades many: if I can't pay for it in full, up front, I don't buy it. Mostly because I don't but also because I can't. My purse contains a checkbook and a wallet comprised of cash, a check card, a Dunn Bros gift card, a library card and my Barnes and Noble membership. Plus thirteen shades of lipgloss, a few diapers and a rogue Cheerio or ten.
I am not wealthy but my life is rich. If all else fails, I try to remember the advice of some of the smartest and most successful financial minds I've ever known or worked for: if you make ten million dollars but your spending is comparable, you're still broke.
The fastest way to get rich is to live like you're not.
Ah, common sense. Such a lost art.