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This whole messy ordeal has advanced my Botox start date by at least two years. Like every other DABA girl, the economy was wreaking havoc on my relationship and youthful good looks. Phone calls went unanswered, Hamptons invitations un-extended, plans canceled (including, but not limited to, expensive opening night tickets to the ballet, which were scalped instead of being graciously offered to me and a galpal), and so forth and so on. Until – the horror of all horrors – my FBF lost his job, which I guess technically downgrades him to just my BF.
Overnight, he went from unavailable to downright clingy. He wants to have dinner every night. By dinner I mean staying in and cooking as Megu is no longer in the budget. AND, FYI DABA girls – chopping vegetables along side your man in a hot New York sized kitchen is NOTHING like the sexy kitchen scene between Mickey Rourke and Kim Basinger in Nine and a Half Weeks. Seriously. It sucks. Anyhow, he suggested I meet his parents over the holidays and he keeps commenting that half Asian babies are by far the cutest. My take on his 180: having no steady source of income for the foreseeable future, he realized that his chances of securing another fashion industry type girl are pretty much zilch and so he is cleaving to me as the last vestige of his former high rolling lifestyle.
Thanks to the recession, I now have a completely devoted BF, which is exactly what I wanted. So I should be happy, right? Wrong. I’m bored and can’t stop thinking about my perpetually unattainable Euro ex-boyfriend who is recession proof courtesy of an offshore trust account. To be honest, I’m only with my BF because I just don’t have the heart to change my facebook status from “in a relationship” to “I ain’t saying I’m a gold digger, but I ain’t messin’ with no broke banker.”
The end cannot come soon enough.