Have You Met Miss Jones?

I had brunch with my friend M this morning, and had a run-in with that pesky keeping-up-with-the-proverbial-Joneses thing.

M is glamorous. She just is. She's a teeny, spritely Texan with a pointy nose and a pixie haircut, all-but-engaged to a boy who's about to start a 100k job with Goldman Sachs. She's a temp at a not-for-profit staffing organization, and probably makes the same amount of money I do (albeit with no benefits), but she's not saving anything (she told me) and she just borrowed money from her father (who has plenty of it), so she has more spending money than I do. You can see that difference, too. And though generally I don't do this whole trip, this morning it made me feel bad about myself. I just suddenly felt a distaste for the tightness of my budget and the scrupulousness with which I have to plan and live in order to stick within it.

So I ordered a mimosa at brunch when she ordered one. (She actually ordered three, over the course of the meal. I stuck with one.) One of the things I've always liked about M is her frankness about liking money, which makes it ironic that I wasn't able to say, frankly, "I'm going to skip the mimosa; I can't afford it."

Five bucks for a teeny (and none-too-strong) mimosa, for no reason. I do love a mimosa, but I didn't enjoy this one.

And here's the kicker: she told me that recently she "spent way too much money at M.A.C.," and was invited to the launch of their new product line. She knows I love M.A.C. makeup, so would I like to come? Eeurgh. I said yes, but I may have to call her and cancel, because my chances of getting out of a M.A.C. store in M's company without blowing thirty bucks are slim. And I do not have thirty bucks to blow. Not even on a wonderful new lipstick. Not even on wonderful M.A.C. foundation, even though I do need a new foundation.

See? This is why I shouldn't go.

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