I told you—societal collapse is inevitable,Fish replies smugly.Next, she’ll be rating men by their credit scores and shoe brands.
“Any other questions?” Matilda asks brightly, as if she hasn’t just suggested that automotive preferences are the foundation of lasting love and possibly caused several breakups in real time.
Georgie’s hand shoots up so fast she nearly launches herself out of her chair and possibly into orbit. “What if you’re a woman of a certain age looking for love?”
Here we go.
“Georgie,” Mom whispers and hisses at the very same time, the same horror in her voice she reserves for natural disasters—namely Georgie, “would you sit down!”
“I’m asking for a friend,” Georgie announces loudly, which fools absolutely no one.
Matilda beams at her like she’s just found her star pupil, and she just may have. “Darling, men age like fine wine, women age like milk—unless you invest in good skincare and better lighting. The key is strategic positioning near flattering lamps and never, ever, meeting anyone for the first time in broad daylight. Think vampire rules, but for dating.”
I’m starting to understand why Grandma makes so much money,Fudge barks.She’s telling people exactly what they want to hear—that everything can be fixed with the right purchase and proper mood lighting.
Buffy wrinkles her nose at me. “She may not be totally off the mark with that last point.”
I nod because it’s true. Lighting is everything. I’ve looked like a ghoul a time or two and the lousy illumination was the only thing to blame—and maybe the fact I haven’t slept since last summer. That might have played a part in it, too.
“Should I lie about my age?” Georgie asks, apparently deciding to abandon all pretense that this is for afriend.
“Never lie,” Matilda replies with the wisdom of a woman dispensing commandments. “Just strategically omit. Think of it as a resume for romance. You highlight your best qualities and leave the less favorable details for the second interview. Age is just metadata anyway.”
Oh, good grief,the thought comes from Mom’s direction, though I notice she’s taking notes like she’scramming for finals.
Macy clears her throat delicately and raises her hand with the kind of refined gesture that suggests she’s about to ask something far more sophisticated than Georgie’s practical inquiries.
“What about intellectual compatibility?” she asks, clearly trying to establish herself as the classier questioner.I’m sure Matilda is impressed that finally, someone is asking a sensible question,Macy thinks to herself, along with a healthy dose of smugness.
“Intellectual compatibility is absolutely important,” Matilda agrees, and for a moment, I think she might actually give reasonable advice that won’t result in mass relationship casualties. “But so is financial compatibility. A man who can discuss philosophy is lovely, but a man who can afford to take you to Paris to discuss it while eating overpriced cheese is infinitely better.”
The sound Macy makes could charitably be described as a strangled cough or possibly the death rattle of her romantic ideals and trust fund expectations.
What am I supposed to do with Jordy?She scoffs at the thought.I can’t just tell him he’s a hobosexual and toss him to the curb for other women to gobble up.She gives Buffy the stink eye.And how I bet she’d love to get her hands on my man—just the way she’s sunk her claws into my business.
So much for an olive branch.
“After all,” Matilda continues, warming to her theme, “you can have deep conversations anywhere, but deep conversations over champagne and caviar are significantly more enjoyable than deep conversations over coffee and day-old donuts. It’s simple math, really. Romance plus money equals happiness. Romance minus money equals therapy bills.”
She’s not wrong,Fish admits reluctantly.I prefer my philosophical discussions while eating premium salmon.
Another hand goes up—a nervous-looking woman about my age who looks like she’s been through the relationship wars andlost several major battles. “My husband forgot our anniversary. What should I do?”
“Check his bank account balance first,” Matilda replies without missing a beat, like she’s been waiting all day for this exact question. “If it’s healthy, forgive him and buy yourself something sparkly as a reminder gift. If it’s not, perhaps it’s time to upgrade your romantic portfolio. Think of it as relationship day trading.”
Did she just suggest treating marriage like a stock investment?Sherlock asks, appalled.
“I think she did,” I whisper, equally stunned.
The questions keep coming like confessions at a relationship disaster support group, and Matilda’s answers become increasingly outrageous and far more financially focused.
“How do I get my man to commit?”
“Cook him one perfect meal, then mention casually that your father owns a yacht and three vacation homes. Commitment will follow faster than reindeer on Christmas Eve chasing carrots.”
“Is it wrong to want a man who can provide financial security?”
“Absolutely not! Love may make the world go round, but money makes it go round in first class with complimentary champagne and leg room. Why settle for coach when you can fly private? That’s like choosing to live in a cardboard box when there are plenty of mansions available.”
