No one asked me to anticipate when we’ll need more toilet paper and find out which store has the best deal on an economy pack, either. My emotional labor is automatic, a kind of compulsion.
My parents passed away within six months of each other, and I learned a lot about finances and the guilt that came with the money they left me.
It’s nearly always the person with whom I only have a tenuous connection—that Facebook friend I met once, years ago—that draws the “well, why are they asking me to solve their problem with my money?” reaction.
In an ideal world, a credit score would tell you nothing about a person except, well, their history of handling credit. Increasingly though companies and other entities are trying to use credit scores as proxies for indicators about a person’s general success at life.
My father had a heroin problem. Although he didn’t mean to, he taught me a lot about personal finance in the process.
I broke up with my live-in boyfriend of six years and took my dog to an advanced training course.
It’s crazy to think that before his work dried up (an ever-present threat to freelancers) we didn’t really have a budget.
“Am I a morally vacant asshole for professing adoration while simultaneously keeping my eyes peeled for a candidate with some actual savings and a less serious chemical dependency?”