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December 3, 2012
Holiday Party Tales: The Wives in Finance

Wives in finance are, quite possibly, the most interesting breed of human being in existence. Every time I’ve met a senior partner’s or director’s wife, she is an unknown strain of bizarre, worthless, or mean. It’s become the standard.

Once upon a time, I’d met my managing partner’s wife and, of course, she rolled in on the Wives In Finance Bizarro Train with glitter in her hair and spikey leather pants. She was some sort of faux-rock-and-roll like Avril Lavigne. She had a general disdain for the hoity toity, the schmoozey charity events, and was miserable about basically everything else that came along with being a wealthy fund manager’s wife.

And somehow, she thought we were friends. Maybe this is because I was usually the only other female even close to her age at events. Or maybe she could sense my bitchy undertones. I went with it.

She clung to me at our Christmas party. We drank and made fun of people, talked shit, took pictures, etc… At one point in the evening she said  to me “let’s get away from everyone and go to the bathroom real quick”.

I thought we were just going to powder our noses and get away for a second. So when we both walked into the single-person bathroom, I didn’t think anything of it. I started rummaging through my clutch for a lipstick and when I looked over, I saw that she had kicked off her shoes that cost more than my rent, and was squatting barefoot atop the toilet, her underwear pulled to her knees, and she was casually taking a shit in front of me. Just shitting away.

And it wasn’t a little shit; it was a full-sized shit. If this shit was a car, I’d say it was a four door sedan. It was a 7-series shit.

My world started spinning backwards as I realized I was watching my boss’ wife take a shit. All the while, she was still talking away about something, as if it was no big deal. I wondered how many before me had witnessed this Wife In Finance take shits. There must be hundreds. Or at least five or six.

I wondered how to nicely tell her that “no matter what happens, we will never be real friends; your husband signs my paychecks; you cannot shit in front of me like this ever again”? I realized this had gone too far. And I never made eye contact with her again.

-SKIRT.


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