Right-wing reality check: High income does not necessarily make one a good “catch”

I remember shaving my legs unassisted for the first time. I was about 11 years old, taking a shower, and I yelled something about needing to shave my legs– in moody pre-teen-speak, no doubt.

Mom came into the bathroom, slid the shower door open a crack, and stuck her hand in front of me. I took the razor and Mom disappeared. All of this without her saying a word. My mother had already shown me how to shave; this time it was all on me.

I stared dumbfoundedly at the instrument for a few seconds. Many questions ran across my mind: will I do this correctly? Will I cut myself? Will I hold the razor at the right angle? Am I not a girl, not yet a woman? Do I even have time for this right now?

But never was there ever any doubt in my mind where I was supposed to shave. I knew not to shave my arms or head or back or butt; nor was I to attempt a disastrous return to pre-pubescence. I knew that women shaved their legs from ankle to thigh. No one had to tell me that.

* * * * *

Not long before that period in my life, my mother befriended a lady at church who was going through a divorce around the same time my parents were. This lady, whom I’ll call Scarlett, taught Bible study and my younger sister was in her class. Scarlett and my mom traded war stories and hit it off to become close friends.

Scarlett had two boys a few years younger than me, whom I’ll call Geb and Red, whom I babysat on occasion. Both boys were in the gifted program– just like my sister and me. Both boys were involved with Odyssey of the Mind– just like my sister. The younger boy, Geb (who was neither necessarily musically inclined nor fundamentally interested in music whereas I had natural talent), played clarinet in middle school– just like my sister and I did, and I even let him use my clarinet. Overall, it was fair to say that Scarlett and Mom had intelligent children. But that’s where the similarities ended.

Life for Scarlett and her boys was a worry-free one. Their father and mother got along post-divorce; my parents fought more than when they were married. Their father paid child support like he was supposed to– alimony was not necessary, as Scarlett did well enough in the insurance industry; my father didn’t always pay child support nor alimony, and my mom was a former schoolteacher who had to work two jobs to keep us alive. Scarlett socked away her boys’ child support for their college and investment. My mom used what little we received to pay the mortgage and groceries. Between high school and college, my sister and I were heavily involved in extra-curricular activities and worked jobs. Scarlett’s boys were not as involved and didn’t work a job– not even through college– except maybe part-time for “play money.”

Needless to say my sister and I had a lot of stress, worry, anxiety and busyness as teenagers, which colored everything else about our lives– our interests, our escapisms, our psyches, our views, our futures, our philosophies. All Scarlett’s boys had to worry about was homework.

As it shook out, Scarlett’s boys went to Georgia Tech– Red majored in Civil Engineering, Geb in Computer Something-or-Other. Fair enough, as neither one was liberal arts-minded. Naturally, since they didn’t have fuck-all to worry about, they graduated in four years. And they were guaranteed to find That Ideal Job based solely upon what they learned in the classroom.

It bothers me that "major" is capitalized and not followed by punctuation.

My sister graduated from University of Georgia with a degree in Risk Management. I got the “lowly” English degree from Georgia State University. Throughout college, both of us worked full-time jobs, part-time internships, and dealt with personal and financial struggles. But we made it through… even if it did take us more than four years, each, to obtain our degrees. Despite everything, it’s fair to say that, still, Scarlett and Mom have intelligent, successful children.

Guess which one makes the least amount of money [but is equally happy with chosen degree]. Guess which one is implicated as being “unsuccessful” in Scarlett’s batshit crazy brains.

Over 20 years later, Mom and Scarlett are still friends… only because my mom is a saint and has a fuck-if-I-know-how-she-can-stand-it-anymore ability to ignore the throw-up of cuh-raaazzzeee that spews out of Scarlett’s mouth on a consistent basis. This has been the way for the past few years.

Scarlett has grown into an insufferable thing: a binfull of loons who thinks “SHUT THE FUCK UP” doesn’t apply to her because she makes a six-figure income as a VP, drives a BMW, votes straight-party Republican (without putting thought into it, I bet) and has two sons who are more intelligent and more successful than your children.

Scarlett’s sons and their financial success aren’t irksome (though, the older one brings out the Annoyeds in me because he’s as philosophically pea-brained as his mother). What bothers me is that Scarlett is no longer a nice lady. Or maybe she never was a nice lady and is simply self-serving. Either case, I’m disappointed in her. And I don’t like her.

There never was any indication of Scarlett’s narrow-minded, un-Christ-like, hypocritical behavior in the past, until George W. II came into office and Fox News rose to infamy. Even today, it seems that all she and her [second] husband can talk about at the dinner table is their sons’ success, and politics– and in the most unintelligent manner: pious, bellowing, chest-puffing, name-calling, Bill O’Reilly bullshit that disallows intelligent refute. And how could anyone else argue? Scarlett makes a lot of money and is therefore more intelligent and more informed than you! Her buffoon husband is merely a supplemental parrot– yet they both know best! They also talk the loudest.

What kills me is that it happens IN MY MOTHER’S HOUSE as well as others’. It’s inappropriate to discuss politics in an unintelligent manner while in someone else’s home! What I’d give to tell Scarlett and her idiot accomplice to put a sock in it! I remain polite only for my mom’s sake.

Oh, the irony!

And only for my mom’s sake did I not pointedly leave the table when Scarlett acted like an ass in a restaurant once.

Scarlett had initiated a “fist bump” with her puppy-dog friend, who also has two boys, over their sons’ financial successes, as if we hadn’t heard it all before, for the 50 billionth time. This, blatantly in front of me. Me, once unemployed for two years, starting over at the bottom in a new industry, making an hourly wage (I am now salaried). Me, who owns nothing but a truck and a dog. With. Me. Sitting. Right. There. Holy. Shit.

My mother purposely did not participate in the “fist bump”… because my mother is not an insensitive asshole, because she isn’t a braggart who bases her self-esteem and well-being upon the success of her children… even though her son, my brother, has his own business and makes more money than all four of Scarlett and Co.’s sons put together! My mother has license to “fist bump” herself! I wanted to “fist bump” Scarlett in the face.

At that moment, I vowed never to share a room with Scarlett again. And now I have an even better reason.

The other night, my mother told me something horrible, awful, about a conversation she had with Scarlett, in which Geb was discussed.

Recently, Geb quit his high-paying computer programming job and Upper East Side Manhattan apartment to go into politics. Geb is a staunch Libertarian and Ron Paul follower, which I’m sure already disappoints his mother. So, he moved to Washington, D.C., and is doing something for the Ron Paul team… something that doesn’t pay well, relatively (I don’t know what his position is).

Geb’s compulsion and new-found passion has Scarlett wringing her hands right off of her wrists. Is she worried about Geb’s safety in D.C.? Nope! Is she worried that Geb may run for office someday? Nope! Is she worried that Geb might get eaten by a velociraptor while crossing Pennsylvania Avenue and suddenly combusts, his ashes then covering the the world and setting off a global climate disaster while Justin Bieber songs play on a loop? Nope!

What could it be?

Scarlett is worried that no woman will want to marry Geb because he doesn’t make good money, is a Libertarian, and therefore isn’t a good “catch”!

WHAT?!

That’s all I kept saying after every sentence my mother told me.

WHAT?!

“In fact, she called him a loser!” Mom said, bemused.

WHAT?!

“Did you say anything to her?! How could she say that about her own son?!” I exclaimed.

“No… I just ignore her. I don’t even pay attention to her anymore.”

“WHAT?! Mom, you do know that she is talking about ME, too, in the things she says about her son! Did you defend me?”

“No…”

“Oh my God! Why doesn’t anybody tell her to STFU?! So, because I don’t make a lot of money I’m not a catch?! It doesn’t matter if you’re smart, have hobbies, enjoy what you do and are a good person… you have to make a lot of money?! You can’t let her say stuff like that! Will you defend me next time?! What?!”

“I’ll defend you next time,” my mother mournfully answered.

* * * * *

Many years ago, Scarlett once told us an anecdote about Red– the son that is the financially successful, married to an attorney, baby-on-the-way, non-loser and apparent “catch.” When it was time for a young Red to use deodorant– why, he had to have been no older than I was when shaving my legs for the first time– he had a mishap. Like my mother did with me and the razor, Scarlett handed Red the container of deodorant and let him have at it in private.

Except, while my 11 year-old self emerged from the bathroom with properly shaven legs via common sense and plain-old fucking paying attention in life, Red emerged from the bathroom with deodorant indeed applied… by covering himself in white– his arms, face, legs– everywhere but where deodorant was supposed to go.

‘the fuck?!

THAT’S the “catch”?!

Well. I don’t think Geb is a loser. Geb is the one who “gets” it. I am proud of him for finding something he’s passionate about– passionate enough to abandon his high-paying job and Upper East Side apartment for menial work in D.C. because that’s what he wants to do. He obviously discovered meaning and purpose on his new path. Geb found that there is more to the world, more to life, than just making a lot of money and marrying someone within the same tax bracket and being happy with status quo.

A well-paying job doesn’t mean shit! Not long ago, I went on a few dates with a college-educated guy with a good job and nice income. Is he a catch? Oh God Jesus and Baby Jesus Hell no.

A stripper does pretty well for herself! After all, she’s probably paying her way through college, right? Is she a catch? Sorry… what?

Paris Hilton is wealthy. Is she a catch? Don’t make me…

Charlie Sheen had a good job with a lot of money! So, by that logic...

Get with the program, Scarlett. It’s the year 2011. I am so sorry your youngest son is a lowest common denominator embarrassment and isn’t living the way YOU want him to, the way YOU never had the guts to live. Money doesn’t equal success. Job type and title don’t equal success.

Moreover, money and job don’t measure someone’s suitability as a mate. Real people with minds of their own don’t care about finding a mate who is financially well-off. Sure, the implication of a motivated, goal-oriented, driven personality is behind a high income— but it’s behind small incomes, too; money isn’t always what motivates an otherwise motivated person. As long as someone finds something he loves to do, does good things, is happy, functions well in society and generally doesn’t fuck up too badly, he is not a loser. He is successful.

And, ultimately, to say such a thing about one’s own son, to call him a “loser”– when he’s not in prison, not a meth-head, is impassioned, pays his taxes and, yes, is still intelligent– it is the most unacceptable, appalling gesture a mother could make just short of abuse.

The only loser, Scarlett, is you.