When I walk across the stage in May, at a university I have attended for five years, there is only one thing on my mind.
Where am I going to find my rich husband? Being a super senior, it is time for me to get on the rich husband scene. I will get rich, get my loans paid off and be a mom who takes care of our kids.
I have not decided what kind of stay-at-home mom I will be. Will I be a Pilates princess mom who has a fresh manicure every week, and is head of the PTA? Or will I be a stay-at-home mom who practices homesteading? The decisions are endless.
I mean isn’t this what it is all about? My parents came to this country, faced adversities and damn near broke their backs to put a roof over my head and food in my tummy, just so I can be a wonderful submissive wife.
Thinking back on all the tears I shed over school and what I want to do for my future career, staying up at night wondering how I will pay my loans back has made me realize that I do not need motivation; I just need a check from a rich man who is head over heels in love with me.
You hear feminism is dead? The years I have spent educating myself have been tiring, and all for what? To live check-to-check in an America that does not seem to care if I am alive or dead? I mean hey! At least I have not decided that I want to partake in sex work, though that is a possibility if I do not have a suitor within the six months before the loan sharks come get me.
All jokes aside, where can I find single men with trust funds? I am young, wild and free though maybe what I need instead of a trust fund baby is a nice salt-and-pepper sugar daddy.
Growing up, I always thought if working in media was not an option for me, I could always go to nursing school. But in turn, that would put me more in debt. I always loved baking, but asking for loans for a little coffee shop with baked goods would put me deeper in debt.
Instead, I can bake for PTA meetings and be the mom everyone wants and is jealous of. I have heard my banana bread could make even a stranger fall in love with me.
Plus, I can just nurture the children I’ll bear while I wait for my husband (who gives me an allowance in which I am solely dependent) to come home. Is domestic life just not the best ever? I’ll cook a five-course meal and clean my mansion by the time my husband comes home and not have to clock into a job once.
Oh, the things I will be able to afford once my Prince Charming comes to rescue me from my castle and slay the dragon of independence and hard work. With his permission, of course!
