“Does he have money?” That’s what everyone asked me when we started dating. I mean, everyone, from my friends to my cousins to my uncle. “No,” I said, puzzled. “He’s an actor.” Of course he didn’t have any money. I’d never dated anyone with money. I’d never had any money myself. I couldn’t even understand why they were asking me this question.
Now I do.
My girlfriend and I were commiserating on how it sucks to find yourself supporting your man. “You know those little things you like to do for yourself,” she said. “Those manicures and massages and stuff? Well, you can kiss them goodbye.” Amen to that. You can kiss a lot of things goodbye.
So I think I am getting done with broke-ass men. I want an equal. And I think I’m getting done with being broke myself. Show me the money! I’d like to live a pleasant life. I want to be able to buy things I like from the artists and artisans I appreciate. I want to be paid well for what I do. Yeah! And be appreciated. I’m smart, funny, reliable, trustworthy, and I have an impeccable aesthetic. I enjoy travel, meeting people, and having meaningful, fun conversations about dance and art and things like that. I like cafes. I want a job that pays me well to do all these things with other fascinating, smart, funny, cool creative people.