One goes broke in a thousand small ways: birthday presents, the ticket of admission to those fancy birthday parties; house presents; ballet classes, lessons in general; theater subscriptions, for us and for the children; dinners out with the mothers, with the parents who want to get to know you better; fundraisers, (God forbid you don’t have your name on the donor list); contributions; dinner parties; out-of-network doctors for my asthmatic daughter, the pulmonologist, the allergist, well-childcare not covered, the dentist; bills—electricity, cable, telephone; clothes for the kids, uniforms; taxis, when too tired to take the bus; haircuts even for Theodor, the girls, myself (Do you really need one, I’d find myself thinking); movie theater tickets and the requisite popcorn and soda—all of it adding up constantly in my mind, a spinning calculator, accumulating numbers with astonishing (and frightening) speed.
From Dear Money
With taxes approaching and the constant onslaught of bills, I’m thinking my character, India Palmer, is much smarter than I. And I’m jealous. She actually took the Wall Street tycoon up on his proposition and went off and became a bond trader. Now she’s having a grand old time while I’m still struggling to pay the bills.
Watch the Dear Money book trailer: Let’s Blow It All