The Mister and I sat down with our financial advisor yesterday, to review our investments and figure out when we can retire. (Answer: when we are 107) Our financial guy, or, as they say in the biz, our "wealth manager" (heh) has been with us for about 17 years now, and we've been very happy with his advice....at least he hasn't been arrested for bilking us out of our life savings, which is something you can't take for granted, I suppose.
I've got some inkling of how stock markets and mutual funds and investments work, but I have to admit, it bores the snot out of me, and it's all I can do to pay attention while he's telling me about my money. I find my mind wandering to the most ridiculous places when I should be paying close attention to what he saying. It is utterly bewildering to me that I cannot tune out inane conversations of teenagers on the bus, or I'm out of my mind with boredom if I find myself in line without a book, but when this guy starts talking about things that pertain directly to my future wellbeing, I seem to find myself wondering why paper bags are never round, and how, exactly, Liza Minelli still has a career. It's ridiculous.
I gathered, after a mammoth effort on my part, that we still have some money socked away, and that if the kids don't want any sort of post-secondary education, we can go on a nice cruise at some point in the future. ("Why go to university? You can drink beer on my lawn for free!")
But just in case, I will be buying lottery tickets all the same. Retirement can't come too early.
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