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I hate money. I hate handling it, I hate thinking about it, I hate the way it effects people and makes them behave, and I hate the way people worship it with obscene, blind devotion.
I really hate thinking about money. People think about money all the time; the money they have, the money they don't have, the money they plan to have, sometimes by hook or crook. Thinking about the money I have takes about 4.2 milliseconds, so it doesn't require a lot of brain time. I don't waste any time thinking about the money I don't have except when I put my head down on my pillow at night and wonder how I'm going to pay my electric bill, which is not exactly conducive to a good night's sleep. I never think about the money I plan to have since barring some miracle, I can't imagine having any suddenly materialize in my bank account.
I am a largely non-materialistic person by nature, so I never sit around dreaming about all the cool stuff I could buy if I had money. My needs are simple. I just want enough to live in reasonable comfort and get a good night's sleep. My lack of acquisitional desire makes me a terrible shopper, something far from the stereotype of the traditional female. I hate shopping. I don't like crowds, am turned off by blatant consumerism, and see absolutely no point at gazing longingly and drooling over things I can't have. Seems like a terrible waste of time to me. My female friends, most of whom love shopping, never even bother to ask me to go along. I just can't get into the spirit of the thing at all, which puts a serious crimp into the enthusiastic shopping spree. My dislike of shopping isn't dependent upon my financial situation. Even if I were richer than Midas I would still hate it.
I really hate grocery shopping. I don't think about food much, don't snack, don't eat meat, and hate to cook. Needless to say, I am not a fan of the Food Network. At work, I have instructed my employees to remind me that I need to go to lunch because if they don't, I will forget. It isn't that I hate food, there are all sorts of things I like very much, but I just don't have it on my mind all the time. When I made the decision to become a vegetarian and totally change the way I eat I just stopped being all that hungry so I forget to eat. So many people I know live their lives from meal to meal it amazes me. What am I going to eat for lunch, what am I going to have for dinner, what am I going to have on this holiday or that birthday or during the Superbowl? Food, food, food. Sometimes, it seems to me that the meals themselves are vastly more important than whatever they do in between them.
I hate thinking about food so I definitely hate shopping for the stuff. In my world if I have some nice, fresh vegetables, some good soup, and an avocado, (definitely an avocado), I'm good to go. When my kids were little I was pretty strict about meal times. Everyone got cleaned up, sat down at the table, took their time, and made pleasant conversation. In retrospect, it was probably more about manners than food. My daughter loves to entertain and is an excellent cook, much to her husband's good fortune. I don't know where she got it. Not from me.
I hate shopping for clothes. There is nothing more tedious to me than tramping around a bunch of stores looking through thousands of racks of garments for something that I might actually like, dragging them into a dressing room, removing my shoes and the rest of my clothes and trying on stuff that is often either uncomfortable or looks ridiculous on me. I'm 5'2” and 61 years old; most of what is hanging on racks looks ridiculous on me.
I used to love shoes. At one time I owned dozens of shoes. I wore some of the most beautiful, body-destroying, absurd shoes you could imagine. Now, I have no interest in shoes that hurt my feet, cause me to walk like a geisha on stilts, or slow me down. I am happy when my shoes still look good, but if they keep my feet dry and warm I'm willing to put up with a small dose of ugly.
I have a friend who's wife is retiring early from her job and he is a little worried about making his $535 a month truck payment. $535 a month, are you kidding me? I couldn't pay every month for one wheel on that thing! I feel bad for him; I know he is losing sleep over it. On the other hand, I'm losing sleep about paying my electric bill so my sympathy is tempered by the fact that while he can get a cheaper car and still manage just fine, losing my electricity would be somewhat apocalyptic. Money, like all things in life, is relative and we often find ourselves trapped in the end by the very things we thought we really wanted and needed to buy with it.

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