Fishing Guy has his own consulting business. I’ve discussed before our different views on financial security: he’s a risk taker and I am not. I want it under the mattress where my princess-and-the-pea ass can feel it all night long. ATM machines? They ought to be illegal. Credit cards? The devil’s spawn. Malls? Burn ’em down; no one needs that schlock and it just promotes teenage shoplifting.
FG lives and works in a complex world where lines-of-credit are a good thing. Mortgage interest is a wise move. Investing in a business venture before someone coughs up the cash is okay. His idea of a fun drive to Florida? Stop at every single outlet mall along I-75 south for 8 states.
I try, very hard, to take comfort from the fact that he is an excellent provider, has never been in debtors prison, pays all his bills on time. But that’s still one of the biggest challenges for me in this 2 year old marriage. Left to my own devices I would live on a totally cash economy. Maybe a little barter. In fact, my children would be wise to go through the entire library carefully after I’m gone- that cute bushy tail is part of my genetic make-up.
So tonight, a lovely evening at the cottage, as FG is donning his vest, getting his rod, checking his lines, he says, "So, would you feel less anxious if you knew what was happening with the company or if I didn’t tell you?"
You know how Jim at Patriside usually puts a little note above his posts telling what music he’s listening to at the moment? Well, FG is out trolling for bass and I’m listening to Maria Callas sing La Momma Morta…