Yesterday I took this quiz on Oprah’s website to determine what my excuses were for not dealing with my money and securing my financial future. It’s not that I am a bad money manager by any means—I pay my bills, almost own my Prius outright, have a nest egg for a condo—it’s just that beyond knowing how to open a savings account and use online banking, I’m kind of inept. I don’t really dabble in the stock market. I don’t pay attention to how my 401(k) funds are performing. Why? Because I don’t want to deal.
But after taking Jean Chatzky’s test, and assessing my answers, I felt a bit panicky about not having a smarter handle on my money. So, of course, I IMed Mr. Wonderful and asked him if he would help me look at my fund allocations and change things up to make more sense.
See, even though I’ve lived on my own (sans roommates) for the last 10 years… And I bought my car (without anyone guiding me) last year… And I’m not afraid to go walking solo at night… And I’m capable of functioning as a whole, single person in society… I really want to hand certain things off to a man in my life.
For a long time (and even sometimes now) I would turn to my dad for assistance with those things I consider men’s bidniz. But Mr. Wonderful is such a brilliant (hot), accessible (precious) and valuable (megawatt sexy) resource, I can’t help but want to run to him for help now.
After we looked over my Vanguard account online last night, he handed me a book about investing. I don’t wanna read the book. I want him to say, “Oh, here’s what you need to do. No scratch that, just let me do it for you.”
I wanted him to say that when he offered me a spare wireless Internet thingee, too. I don’t even know what it is exactly. It’s not a modem. It’s a plug. And I want him to install it. Just like I want him to take my garbage cans out to the curb. And get the oil changed in my car. And water my plants. And change lightbulbs that are too high for me to reach. And figure out my new cell phone. And man the BBQ. And carry in the groceries. And manage my freaking retirement funds.
Yes, I am an independent woman of the 21st century, and it makes me very whiney.