Marilyn Monroe, Lauren Bacall, and Betty Garble star in “How to Marry a Millionaire”, a film in which all three attempt to marry rich. For me, Marilyn particularly embodies the endearing gold-digger who is looking for love, but is willing to open that definition if it includes the right bank statement. Though “How to Marry a Millionaire” was made prior to women being commonly accepted in the work place, the idea of marrying into money is still appealing to a lot of people. It isn’t something you can really go after (How do you stalk the Fortune 500?) but it would be nice if it just… happened.
I recently started going out with a guy who isn’t ostentatiously rich, but he has more than most. He’s not older than the men I usually date, but he has the demeanor of someone older. He’s a businessman, in the most typical sense. Since I’m usually attracted to drifters, this is a bit of a stretch. I’ve recently tried to give guys I might not normally talk to, a chance—just to see. All summer I’ve been letting guys pursue me, instead of going after them. Though it’s easier to sit back and be courted, I prefer the chasing because I think it puts you more in control. Anyway, this new guy who I’ll call Jack, is not someone I would ever chase. I started seeing him because of a promise of a roof pool. He literally had to bribe me to get me to meet up.
Once we were poolside, it was calm and friendly. We went to dinner, and then to another rooftop with $20 drinks. Since then we’ve had more food—it seems like wining and dining is the name of the game. I don’t like to date, but this is what they do. None of this is that out of the ordinary, and I wasn’t really thinking about the money thing, until yesterday morning. I had to leave his place at 8:30 am because the maid was coming—she doesn’t like anyone there when she cleans. I was so tired; all I wanted to do was sleep. The shamelessness of a morning stupor is really priceless. I told him I’d clean the house; that the maid was stealing from him. I asked him if there was somewhere I could hide and then sat on the kitchen floor; but no, he made me leave (in the pouring rain). It was definitely the strangest fight I’ve ever been in.
He was apologizing all day, and I guess I forgive him but I still think it’s weird and wrong. A friend and I had a joke about “first world problems”, and this is certainly one for the books. “Oh, yeah. I’m in a fight with my boyfriend because he made me leave so the maid could come.” It’s so absurd, I don’t even know how I’m involved in it—but I guess this is the hazard of dating a rich man. It makes me nostalgic for the shared tranquility of hipster grime; the beer cans sprinkled around the apt, minding their own business, as you both sleep soundly in.
The opinions expressed on the BUST blog are those of the authors themselves and do not necessarily reflect the position of BUST Magazine or its staff.