That’s me on the left. Ignore the woman. She isn’t involved in any of my numerous business ventures. In fact, she calls them my hare-brained schemes. But it doesn’t bother me. One day, I will have a nicer car than her (we live together) and on days when it’s my turn to cook for our children, we will eat filet mignon. On her days, she will have to serve stringy tendon roast, or shoulder stew meat. I’ll have graduated away from these lesser cuts of meat, and as our children pick gristle from their molars, they will think fondly to my mignon and grow to resent her. I will work tirelessly to shield her from the excesses that our children and I will experience after my great success. We will travel by balloon, and she will be in a Kia Rio. We shall own entire trains, and she’ll own a single seat on a single train for perhaps 45 minutes (the Metro North). We will take out full-page ads in the Wall Street Journal apologizing for our behaviors, but she must write any printed apologies in clipped shorthand in the Classifieds section. “In srch of frgvness - I ddnt mean to slap that pop of ratso.” Good luck winning back public opinion with that illegible mess. And I bet you didn’t even know that the singular form of ‘pop of ratsi’ is ‘pop of ratso.’ So, consider hopping off your high horse to admit that I am the financial wunderkind of our generation, and then take an Italian class. Ciao!