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February 19, 2019

Samantha's Chronicles: Money on my mind

New Year’s Eve turned out to be a girl’s night out. It felt almost like a few years ago, when we spent most of our time hanging out, not stressing too much about life, boys and all that came with it. It was good fun. Nobody brought up my sex tape. There was a catty comment here and there that grated on my nerves but mostly, we were just girls being girls. 

“What does girls being girls mean?” my male co-worker asked when I shared how my New Year’s Eve went down.

“We talked,” I replied. 

“That’s girl’s being girls? What did you speak of?” he asked, looking somewhat amused. “Cosmetics? Men?”

“Women talk about all sorts of things,” I replied, not rising to the patronising bait. “We talk much less about you than you talk about us.”

“Really?” he asked. “I just assumed girls spend hours plotting how to snag us,” he said. 

I laugh. I suppose there are some girls who do this. But there are many others who don’t. I remember our conversation that night being mainly about business, investments and the like. But men, I suppose, have a one-dimensional view of women and our interests. 

“Do you know men are bigger gossips than women?” I ask him. 

“What? No!” he responds.

“Yes, without a doubt, men will always stop what they’re doing, pull up closer and pay attention when you talk about someone,” I say.

He then ironically does exactly what I’ve described as he shakes his head. “And women?” he asks.

“Some women do, some don’t. Why generalise?” I ask.

I would know. I have different types of friends that I never mix together. I have the lady’s lady. Angie. She always makes me feel frumpy because she always looks amazing. Great hair, nails, clothes, everything on fleek. 

I have the slapstick hilarious girlfriend. Catherine. She will make fun of me until the day I die about my sex tape but she’ll have me in stiches while doing it.  

I have the drunk. Lisa. I call her when I want a drink because she is always in the bar. And I mean, always. She dates a guy who drinks equally as much so I sometimes wonder when that co-dependency will destroy them both. 

I have the ATM. Rosaline. This is the friend who always has money and spreads the wealth. She is married to a very loaded man and has a good job so money is never an object to her. Her two kids are in private boarding schools.  

I have the mother hen. Sylvia. She has a sharp mind, is totally sensible and will always steer you in the right path. Sylvia is also very religious and acts as a moral sounding board when my conscience kicks in. Which, I must say, is very rare these days.

Finally, I have the gossip. Vicky. This one is purely for when you want to be petty. So when my co-worker innocently asked what does “girl’s being girls” mean? He was actually right. There is no answer to that. These are all girls who technically have little in common if put into a group together but separately, I can relate to them all on some level. But New Year’s Eve is different, they have to meet and mix.

I spent the evening with Angie, Sylvia and Vicky. Catherine was supposed to join us but had a previous engagement. I love that girl. Humour is the cure for all the world’s ills. But it was a productive evening. Sylvia brought up a housing project she wants to do and she roped us in. I’m excited to join her. It feels good to be able to invest now without batting an eyelid. 

These opportunities have always passed me by because of lack of funds. No more. I intend to become wealthy.  

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