As a white female office worker, it’s often the case that, in spite of having a job, you’ll still find yourself somehow not in possession of enough money to make ends meet in the city that is New York, or the realm that is life. That’s when, as a person even in their thirties and forties will tell you, you will still shamelessly turn to what’s left of your parents to ask if they can throw some extra cash your way.
When they say no and mention that you’re an adult and should probably be capable of paying your own way in life, you will take a page from Ja’mie King and scream, “I didn’t ask to be born!” Because, in truth, you fucking didn’t, so why should you have to be thrust into the world of working in this cruel and unexpected manner, as though you were warned beforehand that you would have to keep up this end of the bargain in order to go on past the age of eighteen.
Working and financial management may not be your forte, but how can you be blamed when you would’ve stayed in the pre-cum stage if someone told you what this was going to be like?