The Bottom Line

Time to address the elephant in the room. But please get comfortable, because this isn’t a sweet baby Ellie with pink ears. This is a formidable full-grown Asiatic bull elephant named Mojumba that charges you on an African safari.

This blog is as much cathartic for me as it is (hopefully) entertaining for you. And I find that when you let a thing fester and boil, it has the tendency to become infected. I used to share the following quote with my students. The identity of the author is buried in my old teaching resources, so I can’t remember who said it, and it is too obscure to find online. But it went something like this:

Sarcasm in language is like a dull-edged knife a neophyte uses to lance an infected boil. He hacks away at the boil ineffectively, causing more pain and infection for the sufferer, and providing little to no relief. Satire is a physician’s sharp scalpel- with one slice, he can diffuse the infection without unnecessary pain. In fact, the patient is barely even aware that the boil has been lanced, so clean and sharp was the slice.

Dr. Oves at your service.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are war, famine, pestilence and death. The Four Horsemen of Journalism are politics, religion, sex and money. Since I started this blog in October, I have, in some form, addressed the first three. Time for the fourth.

Money. Money, money, money. You’re already uncomfortable, aren’t you? Yeah, discussion of money has that effect on people. But you just sit back, have a cup of coffee or a drink, and relax. I’ll take it from here.

(Mary limbers up, does some deep-knee bends, stretches her quads)

So money. When you are married, you both have money. Whether you make money together or separately, it’s both yours. You spend it together. You invest it together. You know what you both have. Maybe it was yours to begin with, maybe it was your spouse’s, but now you share it. This is a wonderful perk of marriage, among many others, because it involves trust. Money is not any kind of barrier in propelling your relationship forward or backward. Even if you argue about it, it still belongs to both of you. In a marriage, money is just…money.

(I’m sure there are exceptions, but I think this is mostly accurate considering my reading demographic).

As a widow, money becomes something entirely different. I was completely unprepared when I entered the dating scene to discover that men tend to draw only one of two conclusions about widows my age: we are rich, looking to fund a boy toy. Or we are penniless, seeking a rich benefactor.

(Disproving both stereotypes has exhausted me to my core. Dating has been a disaster. I officially give up).

Now gird your loins, because Mojumba just bellowed. Because I wonder if a widow exists who manages to transcend those stereotypes?

Hm. Maybe a widow who has been working since the age of sixteen?

Who taught high school English for thirty years since the age of 22 while also teaching college courses at night, just to get her foot in the door at the college level?

Whose little boys missed her all day and then would cry when she left to teach night classes, because they wanted her to stay home to read books and snuggle?

Who spent entire weekends at the library, planning lessons?

Who watched stay-at-home mothers gab on the phone, play on Facebook, go out to lunch and walk the boardwalk every day, while she spent her days inside a small, cramped classroom teaching Shakespeare and loving every minute of it?

Who never understood stay-at-home mothers, women who seemed content to live off of their husband’s salaries?

Who was so intent on being a writer, that while she watched others socialize and sit on the beach and party and travel, she wrote for local papers, blogged on websites, and submitted op-eds, all just to make a name for herself in journalism?

Who once held six jobs at once while raising her children? Who is ultra-ambitious and independent? Who has always been wise about investing? Who still works at things she loves and now can actually enjoy the fruits of her labor?

I wonder if there are any widows like that. She sounds familiar.

She is me.

But sadly, being that the online dating world is cloaked in distrust, men don’t trust the women, and the women don’t trust the men. An independent savvy widow is not a “catch,” she is under scrutiny. She’s too good to be true, they figure, so she can’t be true. Men are so busy researching her income, mortgage, employment and cash holdings to really get to know her. If it wasn’t so insulting, it would be funny.

I take it back, it’s funny. I go on these dates, and I’m waiting for the day when a guy asks for a copy of my stock portfolio before he buys me a drink.

(I speak, of course, as a woman on the dating scene. I concede that the online scrutiny is no easier for men, and sometimes worse).

I miss dating in my 20’s. This is how complicated it got:

Boy: I think you’re hot.

Girl: I think you’re hot, too.

Boy: I’m kinda broke.

Girl: Me, too.

Boy: Want to date, then get married and make babies and money together?

Girl: Hell ya!

Boy: Let’s gooooooooo!!!

I want to have the same conversation with a guy my age:

Guy: I think you’re hot.

Me: I think you’re hot, too.

Guy: I have some money.

Me: I have some, too.

Guy: Want to date, then get married and make grandbabies and money together?

Me: Hell ya!

Guy: Let’s gooooooooo!!!

If only it were that easy.

And while it’s funny, I find it sad. I feel like whining, so indulge me. I’ve worked so goddamned hard on me. I’ve sacrificed a lot to get where I am. I’ve worked on my education, my career, my family, my fitness. Imagine a man ignoring my assets, only to define me by my…well, assets.

Someone recently had the temerity to ask me how I have the money to travel so much. I felt like Jack Dawson at the dinner scene in “Titanic”:

Companion: And how is it you have means to travel, Mary?

Me: Well, I work my way from place-to-place. You know, tramp steamers and such.

C: And you find that sort of rootless existence appealing, do you?

Me: Well, yes sir, I do. I’ve got everything I need right here with me. I’ve got the air in my lungs and a few blank sheets of paper. I love waking up in the morning not knowing what’s going to happen or who I’m going to meet. Just the other night I was sleeping under the Longport Bridge. Now here I am, on the greatest deck in the area, having a beer with you.

This post is not a criminalization of wealth. Quite the contrary. The quest for riches is a noble quest, one during which you become more of who you truly are. I have nothing against money, or men with money. I love money. Money offers freedom and options. Money helps one thrive. Money helps the less fortunate. Money is a thing.

But it’s not everything. And TBH, while it’s true I’m not looking for a man to fund my lifestyle, I’m also not looking to fund anyone else’s, either. A man has to bring something to the table.

Cuz trust me when I say I ain’t afraid to eat alone.

My friend is right, I need to chill. I need a drink. Or twelve.

So excuse me while I go have that drink. I’m going to enjoy my vacation here at my friend’s home and then play around at her fancy resort. And let it be said that I’m grateful for what I have, I have what I need, I can afford what I want, but I don’t need anything that I don’t already have.

Except sex. Yeah, I need that.