The Luv Doc: Rich Cousins

Dear Luv Doc,

Every year, my wealthy cousins from Houston have a weekend family reunion at their beach house in Port Aransas. It used to be more of a laid-back affair – well, at least it used to be a potluck for a while until they decided a few years ago that they would start buying all the liquor and beer and having the food catered because me and the rest of my cousins “had to drive so far to get there” and rent condos, etc. This year, I told my cousin I couldn’t go because I had a work commitment – which I admit was a lie I told because I don’t feel comfortable being around them. Me and my wife work state jobs and have a modest income. I always feel like a loser. They live in huge houses, drive expensive cars, wear expensive jewelry, and go on expensive vacations. They are really generous and nice, but I don’t feel comfortable around them because they always insist on paying for everything and really, we don’t have that much in common. Well, apparently the morning before I told my cousin we couldn’t come, his wife called my wife and she told them we were coming. So yesterday my cousin called and asked me if everything is OK. I could tell he was upset. I told him my wife was mistaken about my work schedule, but that I would see if I could move things around. Now if we do go, things are going to be awkward. I would prefer to just skip it altogether, but my wife really wants to go because I think she likes pretending to be rich for the weekend. Should I give in and let her get her way?

– The Poor Cousin

You’re right. A weekend at the beach in Port A where your rich cousins pay for all the food and booze sounds like pure hell. I will light a votive. While all the other poor cousins are globe-hopping to baller locales like Ibiza and the French Riviera on their wealthy cousins’ superyachts, you’re slumming it in some smelly, nautically themed stilt house condo in suburban Corpus Christi next to the gator preserve. That’s right. You can forget about taking your yappy Yorkie on a leashless morning poop stroll near the water’s edge. You might as well be dragging a greasy bag of bacon through Glacier National Park. If you’re taking Bandit for walkies, stick to the Gulf side of the island. The sharks might bite, but they don’t come zipping out of the water on surprisingly nimble lizard legs.

Look, I kinda get why you’re pissed. It can feel shitty to always feel lesser than – like if you hadn’t spent your formative years getting drunk and smoking weed with your shitkicker buddies you might have aced algebra and made something of yourself. Well I have good news for you: Probably not. I mean maybe, but probably not. Maybe hyper-successful is just not how you’re built, and that’s OK. I think Jesus said something like, “Blessed are the pot smokers and beer drinkers – especially the ones with rich cousins.” I think I should point out here that not only did I barely pass algebra, I totally flunked Sunday school, but the point is that if I had truly wanted to make piles of money, I probably wouldn’t have spent my formative years hanging out behind the 7-Eleven doing stupid shit like huffing Scotchgard™.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you’re a Scotchgard™ huffer. No sir. I am merely presenting the idea that perhaps you evolved with a different set of priorities – or perhaps a more modest inheritance, but that doesn’t mean your diamond doesn’t sparkle as brightly as everyone else’s. So maybe you don’t own a superyacht, but think of it this way: If your cousins were such goddamned fascinating people they wouldn’t keep plying you with food and drink to hang out with them at their beach house. Can you imagine spending a day at a beach condo with a bunch of people like Elon Musk, Bill Gates, and Jeff Bezos? There’s not enough Scotchgard™ in the fucking world, that’s for sure. So, if your cousins aren’t obnoxious egotistical pricks, I highly urge you to get over yourself, count your blessings, and book a condo in suburban Corpus. You know you want to.