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I’d always assumed that the people who lived in those fancy houses in the suburbs were financially better off than I was, and only once I’d joined them did I come to understand that it’s all just a much more sophisticated and elaborate way of being broke. There’s the jumbo mortgage, the home equity loan to renovate the kitchen and bathrooms, the two or three monthly luxury car payments; before you know it, you’ve spent a hundred grand of post-tax income before you’ve put the first piece of bread on your table. Curse of the middle class, my ass. They do it to themselves, all because they’ve got this Hollywood Christmas movie notion of what their life is supposed to look like. It’s a tenuous existence built precariously on a foundation of colossal debt, and one miscalculation, one meager bonus or bad investment or unforeseen expense, can bring the whole thing crashing to the ground.
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