Our relationship was a smoothie blend of hotel living, boozy dinners, plane tickets, and general money wastage.
My parents had already been divorced for several years when I approached them with the question about how we’d pay for the wedding, but tensions between them were still quite high.
Normally, we don’t talk about work. Our conversations are limited mostly to mutual complaints and pointed inquiries as to whether or not any of my other sisters are in the room to talk on the phone as well. This visit, things were different.
Kevin slapped my back, and then gave me a long, tight hug. As he held me, I thought about how he had walked in one day to the reception venue that I had slowly been paying off during the year before our wedding. He had asked for the remaining amount and paid it off.
“What is the point of getting engaged anymore?”
Yes, therapy is included in these costs.
Daniel was older than I was—beyond the half-your-age-plus-seven rule. He had a home and career in Seattle. I was still hustling for jobs to establish savings.
Just like a sublet, romance can be temporary; breakups are a necessary part of the equation, and they make people do silly, costly things.
I recently started shopping for food at the 99 Cents Store in my neighborhood. It’s not as depressing as it sounds. I mean sure, the place certainly looks depressing from the outside. It’s got this garish blue and yellow paint, there are always people loitering around outside muttering to themselves, and there’s a security guard posted up at the entrance to make sure people don’t steal any more shopping carts.
My boyfriend and I just recently acknowledged our two-and-a-half year anniversary. During all of that time we’ve been making it work even though we are long-distance.