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When she brings home the bacon
On my first date with Tano I said,
"You didn't tell me we're getting dinner."
"I'm hungry," he said.
So we went to dinner. He ordered a hamburger, fries
and a milkshake. I was broke. I ordered water and watched him eat.
Months later, when it looked like the relationship
was serious, I told Tano, "You were a sociopath for not offering
to pay for me that night."
He said, "You didn't ask."
"Ask?!?! Are you kidding me? I just left graduate
school because I ran out of money, and you just got promoted to
a video game producer! You should pay!" I was screaming.
He didn't scream back. And he couldn't understand
why I didn't ask for what I wanted at dinner. Those were two reasons
that I stayed with him. Another reason was that he was doing video
art that was shown in New York art museums. I was a grad-school
dork. He was an art-crowd hipster. I felt like my ship had come
in.
I got a job writing for a large company and after
watching Tano project manage, I convinced my company that I could
do that, too. After a few years together, our finances were on par
and we found ourselves applying to similar jobs.
One week, we both applied for the same job at GeoCities.
The company was hot at the time and a little unreasonable given
the fact that employees were harder to come by than jobs (ahh, those
were the days).
In order to get through the interview process, I put
up with a lot of corporate BS. Not only did Tano refuse to put up
with it, he wrote a letter to GeoCities explaining that they asked
for so much information from prospective employees that he should
get paid to go through the interview process.
That was the turning point in our careers. I started
making more money than him. I got funding for my own company. He
got laid off and spent his unemployment money funding a new video
project.
He became more and more successful as a video artist
(read: no money, exciting parties), and I became more successful
as an executive (read: lots of money, boring parties). The income
disparity became larger and larger until it was clear that I would
be supporting us long-term.
We started planning our future so that Tano would
stay home with our kids and his video editing equipment, and I would
continue working as a software executive.
Then Sept. 11 hit us. I was a block away from the
World Trade Center when it fell, and weeks later my company went
bankrupt. My husband's way to deal with the trauma was to volunteer
at human-rights organizations (read: Save the world). My way to
deal was to get pregnant (read: Save my eggs).
I never planned to stay home with the baby. It just
happened. First there were no jobs in the software industry. Then
Tano landed his dream job at a nonprofit. And then I fell in love
with being a mom.
So we took a huge risk: We decided to give up my large
earning potential as corporate climber, cut back our expenses drastically
and live off his entry-level nonprofit salary.
My friends said, "He's finally making more than
you. Doesn't it feel good?" My mom said, "When will he
get a raise?" As usual, I ignored the comments.
But I got bored. I wanted to be in business again.
So I took a small freelance writing job I had and got a baby sitter
for a few hours a day so I could grow my freelance writing. After
a few months, I was making more money than Tano, again.
Now I understand that I am inherently good at making
money and he is not. When I first met him, I needed money and he
had enough for a hamburger, which made him a good guy for me to
date.
Now that I have confidence in the workforce, I need
the things money can't buy. Tano is interesting, kind and a great
dad, and I feel lucky to have him. Sure, we all wish we could marry
a millionaire, but you can't have everything in a spouse, so I made
sure to get the important things.
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