I Don’t Get Them

Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree of Contrast.

I don’t get them. But then, maybe I’m not supposed to. Maybe that’s a good thing, a miracle.

Sometimes I feel like it’s such a struggle to make sure all the bills are paid and I keep up with all the accounting and bank statements and remember what’s what and take care of it all. I grew up with the belief  that the world would end if I didn’t pay a bill. It’s part of my genetic make-up,  I  think.  I  still  can’t  just  ask  for  a  first-class stamp from a coworker—I have to make sure I give them back exact change or more  for  a stamp. Bottom line, I pay my bills or I do without.

So far, the Universe has provided more than enough and when it’s come close to short, it’s provided an abundance of ideas,  resilience, and options that would allow me to do what I need to pay the bills. Not always easy.

So what I just don’t get is how there are so many single men in their 30’s, professional  men with nice clothes and expensive cars, men with no kids, and they’re broke. I don’t mean they can’t afford a second  trip to Europe this autumn. No, I mean broke. As in, mortgage  foreclosure, car repossessed,  and seriously thinking of declaring bankruptcy. It’s not that they mean to be irresponsible or that they gamble or drink away  their income. They just can’t manage their money.

They’d love to go out, but they can’t afford  gas to come pick me up. These are the young pillars of our community? Knocking down six figures after taxes and bitching about not having the money to buy a new tie? These men make far more money than I do and have nothing to show for it. nothing. These  men are secretly  living  with their parents, for  Pete’s sake, with their parents feeding them, doing their laundry, and paying their utilities while they live rent-free in the guestroom. Sheesh.

And how do I know their little secrets?  Funny, but their mommies told me. Their mommies spend too much time venting about wanting their sons to grow up and get their act(s) together. Then they forget they’ve vented and suddenly  they’re  telling  me  about  their  wonderful  little boys and wouldn’t I like to go out with them.

I think their mommies  are really just hoping I’ll take their sons off their hands. But as I said, I don’t get them.