I understand that we are all products of our environments to some extent. That works until you are about thirteen years old; then you should be able to look around and figure some things out for yourself. When you are thirty-five years old and still blaming your parents, you need a reality check. Grow the hell up.
— Larry Winget, You're Broke Because You Want to Be
Liz Jones.
Yeah.
I don't know who she is, either. Apparently, she's a social critic and columnist. Lives "across the pond," as they say.
But she sure appears to be a GDP-growth-worshipping economist's wet dream:
Dailymail: I'm £150,000 in Debt...
I'd say that it takes big courage for someone like her to come out and announce her debt situation. But really, the true courage comes when she proves that she's willing to actually work and pay it off ... rather than "Woe is me!" her way to more recognition and preferential treatment.
That is the thing with being bad with money. It always ends up costing you much more: in late fees, interest rates.
The poorer you are, the more life costs. Like lots of other optimistic, hardworking members of the middle classes, I always thought I'd be OK - not with pools and private jets, but at least with organic food on the table and a nice house.
Yet I am terribly, shockingly in debt.
...I am in a terrible financial black hole right now.
The poorer you are, the more life costs. Like lots of other optimistic, hardworking members of the middle classes, I always thought I'd be OK - not with pools and private jets, but at least with organic food on the table and a nice house.
Yet I am terribly, shockingly in debt.
...I am in a terrible financial black hole right now.
Ummm ... yeah. You, Liz, have racehorses, a farm with a "bat sanctuary," and you "holiday in Tuscany." You wear clothes made by designers whose names have far too many consonants. You spend all this money in some dear hope that others will either be jealous of you, or will see you for something you're not.
I'll give you this: You made me, a social peon (though a solvent one), laugh at you. You sure did that.
I have, probably still smarting from the humiliation of not owning the right jodhpurs as a child, started to rescue race horses, which are proving ruinously expensive. Even my rescued battery hens have two vets: a normal vet and a homeopathic vet.
Nice. And there's more, of course — much more — in the article.
But don't hate her because she's so pathetic.
Hate her because she's still (I'm pretty sure) blaming her poor parents.
