Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Salted Caramel Macaroon...or Seed Money?

Disclaimer: I am financially illiterate. Are dollars the same thing as dimes? That's what a homeless man told me. He said, "Can I have twenty dimes?" and pointed to the twenty-dollar bill I held in my hand. I said, "Well now, that doesn't seem like an unreasonable request," and gave him my debit card. Don't worry! I wrote my PIN on the back of his hand, along with my phone number.

It's payday! Burdened by riches, I dragged myself to the nearest Intelligentsia and ordered a salted caramel macaroon, which cost approximately as much as a muscular pack donkey costs in Chile. If I were your average college-educated English major who didn't join a sorority but is still kind of a biddy about things like expensive facial creams, I would have eaten that macaroon in less time than it takes for me to write a convoluted and difficult-to-follow sentence. But I'm not your average Vogue subscriber, specialty coffee drinker, and obnoxious Fitzgerald fan--and so, instead of eating that macaroon, I invested it. And you can, too!

Here's how:

Purchase your macaroon with the shiniest debit or credit card you own. As they say in the world of finance, "Bling bling, baby!" Translated into everyday-speak, this means, "Shiny things = rich!"

Sit down next to the oldest and least attractive man in the coffee shop. Old and unattractive men tend to be wealthy. Is his face strangely tight around the eyes, even though he must be pushing 70? Jackpot. This man is what the financiers term your "backer."

Make sure he catches a whiff of your gardenia perfume. Spray some in his face if you must. We all know that perfume came from CVS, girlfriend. It's not like you're wasting precious elixir.

When he turns to catch a glimpse of the elusive siren who smells like lazy summer nights spent skinning coons on Tara plantation, pick up the salted caramel macaroon and bring it closer to your mouth, gently licking your lips. STOP! Don't take a bite! Sigh delicately, and return the macaroon to your plate.

Your new backer will ask, "Something wrong with your macaroon?"


Gaze up at him from beneath that Amazonian jungle of lash and whisper, "I can hardly bring myself to taste it. It's so...expensive."

If he chuckles, use this opportunity to unbutton your coat, revealing the sackcloth and ashes you wear instead of real clothes. Tell him you're working on a novel if he doesn't get the hint.

Eventually, he will offer to buy you a house in the Hamptons.

Sell the house immediately. The market is bad! Good time to sell! Or--wait--is it a good time to buy? Ask the nearest man.

Invest that money in something that economics majors term the "checking" account. Basically, this means that you put your money somewhere and people babysit it for you, and you only have to pay them every time they think up a new fee. In a few weeks, you will get an even shinier debit card in the mail. That means your money is rapidly multiplying, like rabbits! I think. Now you can buy all the salted caramel macaroons your little heart desires.


  1. never have i craved salted caramel or money so much.

  2. eventually? given the context, this seems like a dangerous long will he stare at your chest before he offers you this house????

  3. ew, good point! thankfully, sackcloth and ashes don't show a lot of cleavage.


You are truly great.