52 Cents In My Bank Account

For a girl who loves clothes and shoes even more, a life where the bank account is drained by rent, one stop to the grocery store ($40) and one gas tank deposit ($20) isn’t the rosiest. I am making it, but only by the skin of my teeth (which haven’t seen the dentist in a while because I can’t afford the cavities). My daughter’s pants are turning into high waters (thank God she is skinny because otherwise I would be dressing her in pillow sheets, and I only have five of those). I don’t have cable TV; I have the cheapest Internet service possible, but I drive an SUV, a gas-guzzling SUV – with leather interior. If there ever was a car that didn’t match one’s lifestyle, this would be it. X and I bought it when things were going well financially, but I am now stuck with a vehicle that is worth less than what is owed on it – never a good situation, so selling it wouldn’t even work. But I don’t even make payments on the thing – X does. So besides the rare manicure and the nominal bid on eBay, I have very few expenses that I could shuck as an effort to downsize and afford more fun stuff or in the cases of clothing my daughter and fixing what may be a cavity on my upper right back tooth, not so fun stuff.

So last night X came over to pick Bubba up; we sat and talked for a while and I showed him the disgustingness of the middle finger on my right hand. It has swollen up due to what I believe is a fungus in the fingernail contracted by the horrible experience at the manicure shop (NEVER AGAIN will I step foot into such a place). The pain in the finger woke me up during the night. He asked me why I hadn’t gone to the doctor. I told him that not only can I not afford the deductible on my insurance, but I can’t afford the cost for the co-pay required for the year long course of nail fungus medication as well. Shuddering from the brown that has taken over my nail, X told me to get myself to the doctor and he would help me all he could.

Then I remarked about how much this sucked. I hate being poor and complained about my inability to buy new clothes for the fall, not for Bubba and not for me. He said that I should just grin and bear it or move in with my mom, there aren’t any expenses I can get rid of other than rent, so that is my only other option – well marrying a millionaire, winning the lottery, and finding a job that pays more than slave wages are possibilities, but that is beside the point. Sure I can do that – I can move in with my mom - if you want me to slit my wrists. Death is preferable to living with that woman. I love her to death, but I have had enough of living with her to last me a lifetime. I will just go on wearing my rags, thank you.