The worst question

I woke up at 4:30am and stumbled to the kitchen. 

Through sleepy eyes, I spotted a handwritten note on the fridge from my eldest son: 

"Why are you doing this to me? The pain is unbearable! And for what!?"

He’d just been fitted for braces and was evidently having a hard time breaking up with popcorn.

Now, we live in the country, so I thought we’d get country prices. Wrong. Ten grand. That’s what it cost us. That’s more than I spent on my first three cars combined! And yet they were the same tram tracks that kids had in the 80s, just ten times the ticket price!

Look, I’m no tooth fairy, but it looks simple enough: thirty cents of wire, a few dobs of Supa Glue, and a tiny ratchet they tighten monthly. My fencer could probably do it (though at $150 an hour it’d cost the same anyway).

I was having a bad week.

Yet it was about to get worse.

That morning I received a very serious email about last week’s column. I’d written about MoneyMe, a tadpole lender that looked at a couple spending $92,000 on a wedding and thought, “This is perfect marketing material”. Ribbit! They were so angry they cc’d all my bosses at the newspaper.

BAM! 

They demanded that their branding be taken off social media mentions, and included an itemised list of things they wanted “corrected” for the record.

(Oh for godsakes. I felt like I was in the dentist’s chair. Someone give me some happy gas!)

“We’ll make a couple of tweaks”, said my editor.

“Fair enough”, I said.

“... but there’s nothing to stop me writing about them again this week”, I thought to myself. 

“They’ll love that.”

That night, as my son slurped his soup, he looked as miserable as me. 

Here’s what I told him:

“Mate, I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but some pain is actuallly worth it.”

And so is calling out financial products that trap people in unnecessary debt, even if it means angry emails. Because, unlike braces, bad financial decisions don’t come off in two years. They can wire your life shut for a decade.

Tread Your Own Path!

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The Worst Question EVER

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Sorry, But Your Son is a Loser