I think we have a bad connection. What did you say about my pink bag?
Late last year wifey and I hired a financial consultant to review our finances. We figured the birth of our first child was a good enough occasion to get our financial house in order, if not our actual house. By house, of course, I mean palatial apartment with marble fireplaces, Japanese soaking tubs, servants and scenic views of the Manhattan skyline. And by palatial apartment, I mean one-bedroom box bursting at the seams with diapers, baby toys and the bric-a-brac of life, with scenic views of the Manhattan skyline.
There’s nothing quite like spending money to have someone tell you how to spend your money. It makes me feel rich. It makes me feel important. And when that person validates my decisions, it makes me feel like I know what I’m doing. Here’s someone who advises the wealthy for a living, who takes home way more than wifey and I ever will, telling us to do stuff I already thought to do. That’s money well spent in my [check] book. Now off to the polo pitch for a little stick and ball.