Money Squawks

Saffy is firmly of the view that people who say money can’t buy you happiness are either really rich to start off with and therefore can afford to say stupid things like that, or they just haven’t really thought about the subject properly.

            “Or they don’t know where to shop,” Amanda added recently, as she sat amidst a pile of shopping bags from some secret Club 21 sale that you get invited to only if you’ve spent a gazillion dollars with them over the past two days. She glowed with the kind of radiance you normally associate with an SK-II commercial.

            Saffy gazed with deep dissatisfaction at the incontrovertible evidence of Amanda’s happiness – shoes in every hue of glossy patent leather, shoulder bags with brass clasps, little mini-dresses, and cute chunks of costume jewellery. There was even a gorgeous charcoal grey rain jacket, so beautifully cut you just knew it must never, ever, under any circumstances, get wet.

            As Saffy later moaned to me, it must be nice to live in Amanda’s world where you can just walk into any shop at the Hilton, and walk right back out with anything in it, and not even think of the cost.

            “Well, I’m not sure that’s totally correct,” I said. “Those Bulgari necklaces cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

            Saffy remained unconvinced. “If she sold all her assets and cashed in all her CPF, she’d be able to get one!” Her bosom trembled.

            After working out the rough maths, I conceded the possibility of the purchase, but said I had to wonder why anyone would do such a thing. Amanda would, I said, be reduced to busking in the Orchard Road underpass while wearing a six-figure emerald necklace. “What would be the point?” I asked.

            “The point,” Saffy sighed, “is that even if I were to do the same thing, I’d be lucky if I could pay for the COE on a second-hand nine-year-old Volkswagon Beetle!”

            The subject of her parlous finances consumes Saffy’s waking moments. The other day, she called me at work to say she’d just gone through her bank accounts and investments. “And guess what?” Her morose tone floated down the telephone line like a mother’s grief that her very expensively educated ACS son has decided to become a hip-hop dancer. “It turns out I can live comfortably without working for the rest of my life…”

            I was thrilled. “That’s amazing, Saff!”

            “…so long as I die on Thursday!”

            “Oh.”

            Later that night at dinner in the noisy basement food court of the Ion, Amanda’s reaction to news of Saffy’s financial future was a frown. “Wait a minute, didn’t The Specky Blonde say that recently on Instagram?”

            To her credit, Saffy barely paused. “And who do you think she stole that from?”

            At the other end of the table came a voice like huge rocks tumbling down a mountain. “Girl, don’t you know that money can’t buy you happiness?” Barney Chen said.

            “That is so not true!” Amanda said.

            “Lemme tell you something.” Barney leaned in, his already absurdly engorged biceps bulging with the effort. “I’ve dated millionaires and I’ve dated writers. They all have the same insecurities. ‘Does this belt make me look fat?’ I swear, one of these days, I’m going to roll my eyes so hard, I’ll go blind.”

            Amanda blinked. “Wait! That’s from The Specky Blonde, too! People are using her memes in actual conversations? What, is that a thing now?”

            “I first said that back in 2013. She stole it from me,” Barney told Amanda. “My point is that just because you’re rich or you’re poor doesn’t mean squat. If you’re a mess to start off with, you’ll still be a mess whether you’re wearing Gucci or G2000!”

            Sharyn looked up from her beef noodles, her glasses fogged over from the steam. “Yah, but better to be rich mess than poor mess, right?”

            Saffy’s bosom inflated. “That’s my point, exactly! Thank you, Shazz!” Sharyn waved her hand and went back to slurping up her noodles.

            “I really do blame my parents,” Saffy went on. “They were so liberal. They said nothing when I told them I was studying arts at uni. I could do anything I wanted as long as I was happy, they said. If they’d been proper tiger mothers and forced me to study law, I wouldn’t be poor now!”

            “I hate the law!” Amanda pouted. “It’s so stifling!”

            Sharyn looked up again. “But you’re rich! Liddat still can complain! Haiz!”

            Saffy says Sharyn should be on Instagram.