Beauty and the Accountant
Working as a freelance writer, I've spent years toiling over "the books" and trying my hand at being the CFO of my own company.
The truth is, I have no business messing around in my own business.
While I do not mean to imply in any way, shape or form that I fell in love with my husband for any other reason than he is a tremendous human being who happens to make my heart flutter uncontrollably - I cannot deny that the fact that he's a financial director for a living is a total perk.
Not only did I marry a kind, smart, funny, dedicated and inspiring man, but I married an accountant. On our wedding day I may or may not have vowed to love, honor and obey his financial advice.
99% of the time this is a total Love windfall. Not only does he have to love me when I'm sick and when I'm healthy as a horse, but he has to love me when I ask him for the 100th time where the spreadsheet is that we track my mileage on. He also keeps his cool while explaining why a new sofa or, say, a pony aren't tax-deductible items. Even when I promise I will use both frequently to write upon.
So, the 1% of the time when I’m aggravated because I don’t want to talk about spreadsheets and tax returns when I’m clearly busy “brainstorming” over an episode of The Vampire Diaries – is a pretty small price to pay. Because, you know, I don’t actually pay him anything.
Plus, not everyone feels all aglow when they see they’ve gotten a text on their iPhone from their accountant. Especially when that accountant asks you on a date to sign papers at the bank.
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What happens when you're in your 40s before you hit most of those major life milestones? It's like wearing high-waisted pegged jeans to a Versace fashion show.