Tales From a Sugar Mama

It's a little ridiculous that I consider myself financially secure. I touched on this earlier when I mentioned to you (my readers) that I have a $1,800 mono-printing piece of art I call Natalie hanging in my childhood bedroom. In my parent's house. Where I still live.

If I can afford a $1,800 piece of art, you may be wondering why I still live with my parents? Good question, audience! Well, the answer is simple:  when I was nine, I had encephalitis, had two seizures, and lost my peripheral vision. No driving for me.

Of course, my doctors didn't bother to find this out when I was nine. For years, my eye doctors (I went to two different providers regularly in my mom's failed attempt to find out what was wrong with my eyes) marveled at the oddly pale backs of my eyes, then did nothing. No tests. No guesses. Just a lot of Hm, that's weird, but she can still see, right? Then I guess she is okay! If her eyesight starts going, then we will look into it.  It wasn't until Obamacare forced my eye care center to give their patients routine tests that it was discovered. The test ran all while the eye technician (or whatever she is called in eye-doctor language) complained loudly to me about Obamacare and the unnecessary testing and costs and time and paperwork (my god, the mountains of paperwork!) it was causing her.

Then the eye results came back and she shut-up about Obamacare.

So, I don't drive, so I continue to live at home where I have to rely on others for awhile. This allows me to save up a lot of money, which I spend ... erratically, to say the least. A really cute $12 tank top at Target? Hm, I don't know if I need this. . . . A trip for two to Disney World? Fuck yeah! Fast food three times a week? Hm, do I need food? Really? But I'm so little.

Even though I put a lot of thought into what I spend money on (sometimes), somehow I became my boyfriend's Sugar Mama. Trip to Milwaukee for Summerfest, trip to Disney World for a week, action figures, food, movie tickets, etc. . . . Even though Boyfriend would love to pay for stuff, he knows he can't, and I think he is finally comfortable with how much I spend on us.

Too comfortable.

—Boyfriend and I listening to Meghan Trainor's new song. The lines I never pay for my drinks. My entourage behind me. come through his car's radio—

Boyfriend: I never pay for my drinks either. —holds up a bottle of soda I just bought him to keep him hydrated on the way back from Summerfest, where I paid for our hotel stay—

I spoil him, and I don't know why.

Maybe because of his resemblance to Shaggy from Scooby Doo, representing simpler times where I would also blow my allowance on many things.