So Dying To Marry A Rich Guy has been burning up the phone lines with me.
She wants to quit working, wear kitten heels, and stand in a 5 star lobby and dial her driver.
She’s asked her parents to find this guy.
And then she calls me and wails about marrying a man her parents find. And sleeping with this stranger.
So I like this girl. She’s sassy, funny and level headed.
But ever since she’s turned into Dying To Marry A Rich Guy, all I want to do is shake her hard till her teeth fall out and her brains fall into place.
I have no patience for this. You want a rich guy. Then please spare us the how will I sleep with him, and will he be a Mensa graduate, and even I have some self respect.
Just go ahead and say Fuck it, he’s loaded and that’s all I care about.
I have another friend who did just that. She said she married for love the first time. And it left her with a broken heart and the resolve never to marry for love again.
So she married a rich guy, and she’s pretty happy now.
So what’s the conclusion? I have no idea. I guess to each his own.
I just wish love had some part to play here.
Or then maybe to quote the great philosopher Tina Turner: what’s love, but a second hand emotion.
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