I didn’t make enough to throw into the bank and build up a nest egg or anything and was always living on the edge. I made just enough to get by and maybe had a little extra in the bank to splurge on a nice meal now and then.
“Can’t you tell by my haute couture?” I asked, sweeping my hands over my simple Gap capris and slouchy boyfriend t-shirt.
He grinned in response and it hit me right in the gut. I really liked making him smile.
“Alright,” I said, throwing my hands up. “You got me there. But still, I get paid to travel around the world, and I get to write about it. It’s an experience few get to enjoy, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything -- not even for a job that paid six figures.”
“Fair enough,” he said, finishing the last of his wine as the waiter brought us our food.
My stomac
