The only other person I dated with some link to money came via my ex-boyfriend. His father owned a TV station in Utah and his mother clearly enjoyed the privilege—she dripped with jewelry and talked non-stop about their money.
I had a lot of guilt growing up in the Philippines, one of the poorest countries in the world, and going home to a massive six-bedroom house with two cars in an open garage. I recently read about spite houses, and I thought about how appropriate it was to call my childhood home the “house of spite.” My neighbors constantly gawked at the sight of our house, and I was always so ashamed to be seen as that girl who lived in that house. People walked by our house and talked loudly about how great life would be if they lived in that house. It would have been great if the mistress of this house didn’t fill her long empty days with absolutely nothing.