Sometimes when I talk politics, and talk left-wing politics, with people I feel so much like the champagne socialist that I probably am. And sometimes being together with a working class hero gets the better of us both.
My parents make a lot of money. Without going into detail, because it’s none of your business, I would say that my parents together only have to work 3-4 months to jointly earn a year’s average wage for a single person.
Since none of my parents like to live particularly ostensibly, it piles up, and they pile up in the savings that they do for me. My parents have put aside a good portion of their salary into a trust fund ever since I was born. They did the same for my sister when she was alive. Dad also likes to exploit the innate greed of the middle classes by speculating on their aspirations in housing and investments. So, by now I’m far away from being a poor student.
Since they say they’re going to keep on saving for me until I leave university, I don’t see myself ever being like normal people. I don’t have to get a student loan, for instance. Actually, I would feel like I robbed some poor kid if I ever even contemplated getting one, even if I would qualify for it.
And this state of affairs sometimes brings out frictions in my relationship with Mark. Last year we got into a long argument over our car. My dad offered to buy us our current car pretty much out of the blue when Mark started to train for his driver’s license. Mark’s pride flared up on full, and he dug his heels in about it, and we spent months going back and forth.
Now Mark out of the blue insisted that we should go to a lawyer and have papers drawn up so that my savings is kept out of our marriage, because he doesn’t want to have any part of that because he feels its something my parents have done for me, and he hasn’t earned any of it. Which is a bit silly because it’s not that much money. It’s not like I could buy a mansion and live off meagre interest rates eating chocolate and drinking champagne for the rest of my life.
I have to also admit, and I’ve said this to him, that I feel slightly insulted that he doesn’t want us to be a complete family. It’s like what I bring is a bit tainted, a bit difficult. Of course dad sides with Mark in this and says it’s a very good idea, and wants me to go through with it. I haven’t asked mum, but I suspect she’d join the Mark & Dad camp on this.
I don’t know what to do about this because our differences in this matter is not something that matters most of the time, but sometimes it pops up like this, and I feel that Mark is a bit intransigent, and that his working class pride gets in the way of him. Of course, everyone I talk to also sides with them with the line “you don’t know if it’ll end one day, and it’s good to have that sort of thing on paper.” Up front it sounds so sensible, but the undercurrent is that it means going into the marriage without committing fully to it.
Maybe it’s silly of me to think like that. Maybe it’s my inner Romantic that scoffs at being so materialist as to pretty much get a prenuptial agreement. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. And maybe I’m being a bit egotistical because obviously it’s important to Mark to come into the marriage as an equal.