My BFSK S. (Best friend since Kindergarten) and I were talking on the phone last night about the sorry state of our retirement accounts. We are decidedly not as diligent as our mothers about planning for our golden years. We both agree that at this rate we will be forced to work well into our nineties (Or tip over dead at our desks).
There will be no winters in Florida. No Greyhound bus tours of the Poconos. No hours wasted at the bingo parlor. It is our collective fear that thirty years will fly by and we will be living in tenement apartments eating Little Friskies cat food. A grim prognosis to say the least.
After a long discussion, we came to the conclusion that an alternate plan is necessary. I have evaluated our options. It seems unlikely that either of us will strike oil in the backyards of our subdivision houses (regardless of what T. Boone Pickens or Tommy Lee Jones says). We are not as young or cute as we once were so, the possibility of being a trophy wife at this juncture is nill. There is always the hope that one of the six people who owe us their lives would come through in the end but, we certainly cannot bank on that. We will be lucky to get cards at Christmas.
After hours of exhaustive searching I think I have come up with a good Plan B. It needs a little refinement but, I am confident we could make it work. One way or the other we would have a roof over our heads.
I can't wait to tell S. She will be so relieved.