Saturday, January 21, 2012

Money. It's a pain in the ass.

Money is such a tiresome thing.  I know I've blogged about it before but come on, let's face it, next to screaming autistic teenagers throwing phones at my face, and dogs that haven't quite mastered the technique of pooping outside after three years, money is my next favorite blog complaint.

I suppose if I was raised in a family which never really had it, this would be a non-issue.  But I'm a brat - I admit it.  I'm spoiled which makes things that much more difficult.  I like nice things.  And no, I'm not content with walking into a spa for just a basic manicure and leaving.  I must have at least a couple of lovely treatments administered to my fluffy body.  I must be pampered and if that can't be done then I won't go in because I'll simply pout.  Yes, I realize how awful this sounds. 

Prior to my engagement to Eric, I should have warned him of my love for the finer things in life; however, I truly thought I had overcome this behavior during my first marriage.  You see, back then I learned the painful lesson of living out of milk crates and donating plasma for spending money.  I truly believed I had been healed of my demons.  Not so.

On one of our first weekend dates, Eric surprised me with a beautiful trip to San Fransisco.  He opened the flood gates all over again.  He reminded me how lovely it was to be spoiled and pampered.  Poor Eric.  There has been no recovery in seventeen years from that magnificent weekend.  The Four Seasons Hotel, a dinner cruise with wine and saxophone music, tours through China Town and Golden Gate Park -- every time I walked through a store he offered to buy me a souvenir.  Oh, so sweet.  Oh, so dangerous. 

Now, I'm spoiled all over again.  It's so hard to undo what's been done.  It's like trying to un-teach Pavlov's dogs -- though I don't know if I like comparing myself to a dog -- hmm, well, it's not like I haven't been called one before.

When I go out to dinner, I really dislike going to Denny's.  I prefer 5-star steak houses.  When traveling, I would wait to book rooms and stay a Sheraton or a Marriott versus a Comfort Inn or a Ramada.  Yes, I'm a brat; however, because of my plasma donating days, I am capable of going without.  I have learned to accept a Motel 6 if necessary and have come to enjoy greasy spoon restaurants profusely.  I have a confession to the meantime, I have turned my dear one, my innocent husband, my love, my Eric...into a snob.

How did this happen?  I can not say with any certainty.  During our marriage he has been shown the finer things in life.  I am not solely to blame.  My parents, who gave me my early lessons in lovely hotels rooms, fine dining, and expensive vacations, have also immersed Eric in these experiences.  My man - the guy who once made me walk three city blocks with luggage through a Las Vegas hotel complex to avoid a valet parking tip now hands out $20 bills like water when someone opens the door for me.  Unbelievable.

Money.  We never have it any more.  I just don't understand why. 

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