In high school, I dated a guy who had so much money that his father actually had gold bricks lying around the house. I always debated stealing one, but I’m not a thief and I never really knew what I’d do with one if I took it. I mean, I’m pretty sure those puppies are kind of well-tracked. It wasn’t like I could have taken that to the record store and bought Britney’s new CD without raising eyebrows.

Plus, I’m honest enough, and my conscience is guilty enough that the next time I saw his dad, and he’d said, “Hi Becks!” I would have responded innocently with, “OHMYGOD I’M SO SORRY I STOLE THE BRICK PLEASE DON’T HATE ME.”

Yeah. Not exactly coy, eh?

But in that neighborhood for 2 years of my life I learned a lot. Namely the term “trophy wife.”

As someone who, at age 18, had realized cleverly that she was allergic to a hard day of work, this seemed like an idea life to me. I’d marry an old rich guy, pop out some kids, occasionally sleep with him when Viagra could give him a boner, and live a life of leisure. I’d pop pills, have plastic surgery, hang out at the Country Club down the street. I’d lunch and spa and hand the kids off to the nannies to be raised.

Eventually, my husband would die, his First Wife would fight me in court for his estate, and eventually we’d settle. The only real kink in my Ultimate Plan so far as I could see was that I wasn’t blond, but that, I figured, could be remedied with a quick dye job.

A Trophy Wife, I liked the sound of that.

Age 22 found me unmarried with a kid, working my way through the prerequisites required to get into nursing school, and although I was pretty pleased with school, I was becoming increasingly aware that nursing school wasn’t going to be what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

Age 22 also found me to be The Date for any of my male friends going to any company parties, because, well, they knew I put out everyone needs a standby date. Evan had been one of my best friends since I could remember and when he invited me to be his date for one of his work dinners, I accepted immediately.

We showed up together at a swanky steakhouse, and in the vein of broke 20 year old’s everywhere, I began drinking immediately. Because OBVIOUSLY. So by the time dinner began, I was fairly lit and began drunkenly talking to the guy on my left, an attractive guy with an accent, probably 20 years my senior.

Evan, always one to ditch me at parties, had probably already ditched me by this point anyway, so I made this guy my date. Besides, Evan and I were just friends, and this guy was charming and funny, and, well, Evan was the same guy who had come over to my house and left a framed picture of his naked ass on my pillow a couple of years before.

A real charmer, that one.

It probably wasn’t until the end of the evening by which point I was fairly loaded when the guy who was sitting next to me stood up and started addressing the room when I realized that the person that I’d been teasing and generally making an ass of myself in front of wasn’t The Boss. He wasn’t the Bosses Boss. Oh no.

He was the Big, Big, Big, Big BIG Boss.

And somehow? He found me ADORABLE.

Because I had no idea who he was, I wasn’t shoving my tongue up his ass trying to get a promotion or a raise or a car or whatever it is that people do around the Big Boss People and I think he found that refreshing. Maybe I was just an awesome drunk or just On My Game that night, I don’t know. All that I do know is that the second I was out of there, he was all over Evan to hook him up with me.

The problem is, I really wasn’t interested in dating him. The prospect of living a life of leisure, even though he was funny and attractive AND had a sexy accent AND a assload of money just didn’t do it for me. I tried to reframe my thinking for an entire week and I simply couldn’t do it.

Turns out that life as a Lady of Leisure, even with the prospect of free pills and unlimited plastic surgery just wasn’t enough for me.

I know. I KNOW.

I still don’t know what I was thinking.

127 thoughts on “I Was Almost A Trophy Wife Once

  1. I don’t even know even know what to say. You are a disgrace to gold diggers everywhere. You should be ashamed, Aunt Becky. LOL

  2. That’s my problem too. I always go for love over money. As we speak, my roof is leaking all over my son’s bed, and I have no idea how we will fix it.But, at the end of the day, I know happy is better than rich. Besides if I had money (mine or someone else’s) I wouldnt know what to do with it. I’d still go to Walmart and the dollar store. I don’t know how to live any other way.

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  4. The only real problem I can see is that I am neither blond nor tall and thin, therefore could not be a trophy wife. But I could totally do it, becuase I like to think I am entitled. There you go.

    Besides, Viagra in a dark room? He could be ANYONE!

    and I hope you know I am only teasing. I think. Because I might not have $$, but I am rich in love. BWAHahahhahahahha. Cheesy line or what?

  5. I have an ex that I could’ve wound up with. He’s a partner at the financial firm he works at, drives a Viper (and owns a truck), and generally is very successful. But every time I pictured saying my vows to him, I saw myself standing there, wondering if I could have found someone better for me. Turns out, I did! I’m so glad I trusted myself enough to know that STUFF couldn’t ever make me truly happy.

    Loved this and love YOU!

  6. I am still holding on to hope that, should I ever be presented with such a situation, I would be able to suck it up and go through with it. For the greater good. I would first have to come up with a way to convince myself that it was for the greater good, but once I did that, I’m pretty sure it would all be gravy.

    My fiance might be mad. But, come on – GREATER GOOD (somehow).

  7. What do you think people, who have money, worry about? Is there really anything more in life that just brings you to your knees like trying to decide how you’re going to pay the mortgage this month, send the kids to college, or fund that damn botox party???

    Ahhh, the life of a trophy wife. sounds nice.

  8. That’s the problem with you trying to live that lifestyle. You think. Trophy wives don’t waste their time with that whole “thinking” crap, it causes wrinkles.

  9. I couldn’t help but giggle through that post because I DID marry an older, well off guy when I was that age. He’s 20 years older, to be exact.

    His job also meant that 4 foster teenagers were living with us. Seriously, had I wanted to do the trophy wife thing I probably would not have picked a man with TEENS. I was accused of being a gold digger, he was accused of robbing the cradle. (although I do know that he really enjoyed the comments other men made. He’d sit there like, “YES!! She’s ALL mine, suckers.” Women would give him the evil glare as if he had betrayed his age group.)

    I’ll admit that having a spouse that much older DOES have it’s perks. In my 20s, I had a lot of opportunity to do things that most of my peers couldn’t afford. It was never a life of leisure though!

    To be honest we don’t even notice the age difference much, probably because we are still very much in love 18 years later. If one married solely for money, I can see how it would get old (pardon the pun) really quick. The downside of a big age difference? I’m acutely aware that we won’t grow old together. THAT is not fun.

    And besides that, people are often weirded out and critical of the relationship. I just figure they’re all jealous, lolol. Age hasn’t been an issue this long, why would it be in 10 years when he’s 68 and I’m 48? Not for everyone, yes. For us…it works.

    PS..not all old guys don’t need Viagra, btw.

  10. Dude I so want that to happen to me.
    My BFF and I just joined a millionaire dating site.
    Our profile said “2 for the price of 1. We are looking for a rich old dude to buy us shit”
    …Nope still havent recieved an Email yet
    The fuckers

  11. My mother always told me, “It’s as easy to love a rich man as a poor one,” but nooooo. I was determined to make it on my own in this world and find true love. I am such an asshole.

  12. Dude. DUDE.

    I don’t know whether to be disappointed or proud. Though I probably would have gone out on one date with him. On the other hand, while I like older guys, 20 years is more dad-like than husband-like. You know?

  13. When I was like 17 or 18 I remember dating Very Rich Brian (he was about 20?). The last four digits of his phone number was 1057. He lived in a huge mansion on the top of an giant hill. I loved going to his house. It was like a museum. His dad was a HUGE gone with the wind fan, and he had the jacket that Clark Gable wore in the movie. Their house was purposely built to look like the house in the movie. It was Gorgeous!

    Try as I might, trophy wife takes on a whole new meaning when the guy is dumber than a box of rocks. Seriously, I’m the first to admit that I’m not the brightest bulb in the box, but, oh my word, his bulb never had a power supply. I just couldn’t take it.

    I’d still love to go to his house just to hang out.

  14. I always wanted to be a Trophy Wife. I tried to be one once. I gave it 4-5 months of effort. But I just can’t fake the sustained interest needed to get to the wedding. I can be totally into someone for a few hours here and there, but not in the long term. Not enough to require a settlement should it all fall apart.

    Now of course I am old enough to be replaced by a trophy wife, so there is that chance blown.

    Good for you not stealing the gold bricks BTW!

  15. Before I met my husband, I went on two dates with a guy that could have made me into a bit of a trophy wife, really fabulous dates, really impressive paycheck, no personality. He was just sooooo boring. I ended things after the second date, because he bored me to no end. My life now is anything but boring, and I love my guy. Might still be nice to not have to work, and to buy whatever I want, but being bored to death has never been in my agenda.

  16. This happened to me… When I was about 21ish I was lovin the bars. One night it found me at a local higher end bar/restaraunt and I met (he bought us drinks) this older than me (by 25 years) Pilot that was in town for a wedding. He and I hit it off (I was drunk and he was horny) Nothing happened that night …. and he asked me to go to the wedding with him the next day.

    I quickly digressed and would not give him my number but took his email address. He and I emailed for about 6 months and then he sent me postcards from aroud the world… it was awesome.

    I lost track of him for 7 years – and then Facebook came around– I found him just recently…. such a cool thing…

  17. My husband’s d-bag friends in school thought the only reason I stayed with him for 15 years was in the hopes that one day he’d be a bajillionaire, since he’s such an ambitious smarty pants. I like to remind them that when we met, dude had blue hair, and all this time later, we are still not able to say, “I’m Rich, Bitch!” I think if we could, we’d probably have become sucky people whom everyone hates. Big money just fucks everything up, ask most lottery winners!

  18. I have a habit of being unable to think of anyone (the Boss, the Boss’s Boss, the Grand Puba, whoever) as superior. I treat everyone exactly the same. (The only time this has been a problem was when I decided to become Catholic. I have a hard time seeing the Pope as anybody but a human being. **ducks to avoid being struck by lightning**).

  19. I.Am.Speechless.

    and… somehow….

    Well, The Daver is nice and he puts up with your shit. That’s gotta say something for the guy. πŸ™‚

  20. I wish I could be my husbands trophy wife. I’m way to lazy and in love with my current husband to go out and try again…Just depressing that my CURRENT husband can’t be filthy rich? Yes?

  21. I actually dated a guy with more money than he knew what to do with one time. He wasn’t, say, Beverly Hills rich…but he was doing MORE than alright.

    He was an ass.

    There was ZERO chemistry (on my end at least).

    I knew it was over when he proposed and I said “Not now”. He countered with “I’ll buy you TWO rings just in case you lose one.”.


    And then he went and asked my DAD if he could marry me because I said no. My dad told him he was not the one that needed to be convinced. Ha.

  22. I had a guy ask to be my sugar daddy not too long ago. At first, it sounded like a super sweet deal – he was handsome, intelligent, and wealthy. However, it skeeved me out, and I couldn’t bring myself to go out with him.

  23. Ah Becks, you WERE thinking right that night, despite it seeming the contrary. My mother used to say, people who marry for money normally earn every cent – the hard way!

  24. So…do you still have a phone number?? I kid, I kid!! I spent 14 years with the only child version of rich, and he was an ass right down to the very end. I think there will always be something we could have gone for, and then found much better elsewhere. πŸ™‚

    1. @Becca The thing with this guy was that I would have had issues bringing him around my friends. And that would have been a problem for me.

      My best friend predicted that this guy would have broken my heart. I’m not so sure, but it’s possible.

  25. Jeez, I’m clearly moving in the wrong circles. The richest guy I ever knew had a pool. Being a trophy wife wasn’t really ever on the radar for me, much like being a lingerie model. There was that one marriage proposal I turned down, though. And it is nice to look back, especially when you’re frustrated with the way things are right now, and know that if you had to do it over again, you’d still say no, because the right person was just over the horizon.

  26. Maybe I’m full of shit (ha! maybe? of course I am), but a lot of guys with self-made money are too busy making the money until it’s too late to have fun while young. And I’m not talking about the hookers’n’blow sort. I’m talking about the hardworking engineer types working 80-100 hour weeks on something they love. They never meet someone, unless it’s at work, and then it’s just awkward. *sigh* I’m doomed, but more than willing to be someone’s sugar daddy, so long as they can accept bitter-sweet.

    1. @Nate Aw, look here, there are a bunch of ladies who’d happily be your date to anything. And they? Are lovely people. And I? Have the hook up.

      MY Old Balls husband worked a lot, yes, but not like you and Dave do.

  27. It would have been sweet if you kept in touch so that you could have a sugar daddy relationship with him. You could have called him big poppa (like Kim on the Housewives of Atlanta) and let him finance your shopping habit and your burning desire to cut a rap album.

    1. @DG He was a really fun guy, shockingly. Just bad timing for us both. Besides, I had a kid and needed a father-figure. And at 25, Dave was a better father than this guy was going to be at 45.

      1. Good. Because I could totally further elaborate.

        “Now I ain’t sayin she a Gold-Diggah
        But she ain’t messin with no broke Dave-ah (but she is. whatever bitches, don’t ruin it)

        You can read her advice column any given sunday
        Blog about her coochie but she aint got a Hyundai
        She was sposed to buy her shorties Tyco wit ya money
        She went to the doctor got VICO wit ya money…(‘oooooh the children!!!’)”

        … I never said it was good. Beyonce probably did it better anyway.

  28. I just love the word boner. It makes me giggle.

    Yup, I’m destined to fall in love with the middle-class folk. That, or I’d like a baseball player. Or farmer/rancher types.

    Boner. That slayed me.

    1. @Ms. V. Boner is probably the best word ever. So many great uses. I’m planning to work it into Christmas with my conservative in-laws. Last year, I worked “Sweaty-Balls” into it. It was a huge success by my standards.

      Whatever gets you through the holidays, right?

  29. I keep telling Al I want to be a trophy wife, but no go. He’s got the older thing, just not the rich thing. He does play a lot of golf though.

  30. damn guilty conscience! it’s really too bad about the gold brick. think of the possibilities! gold chains, gold grills, a set of gold knuckles that said WITE GIRL, a big fat gold pinky ring. with the leftover gold, you could have bought yourself a nice velvet track suit.

    i don’t want to be the trophy wife. i want to be the trophy EX-wife. marry the old dude, throw him a bang every once in a while, then divorce him. it’s a solid business plan.

  31. So, funny story here: I missed marrying into major money by what amounts to a gnat’s eyebrow.

    Y’see, Mr. Platypus (we’re not actually married yet, but who cares) is related (second cousins) to a certain famous hotel family. His grandparents almost owned the property rights to half of a large barrier island off the coast of South Carolina famous for its golf courses.

    Except that they missed the deadline to file the paperwork by three years.

    Sigh. I was so close.

  32. What Swirl Girl said.

    And I almost was too!! Except he turned out to just be older, not rich at all, and rather funny and interesting, and generally right up my alley – heh heh – so I DID marry him, but I’m not blond or busty enough to really qualify either… and damn if I don’t love the joker. So totally not.

  33. The whole time I read this I kept thinking of that wierd little background voice in the Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine” that sings “a life of ease” in that odd nasally voice. Tee – hee!

  34. I always went for hot and broke. I moved to Vegas when I was 19 – the Mecca of Trophy Wives – and *still* I didn’t learn.

    I coulda been someone. I coulda been a contender.

    Then again, I coulda ended up being one of those witless bints like “The Girls Next Door”, banging an 85 year old pervert in rotation with anywhere from 2-50 of my almost-identically-blonde-and-bouncy-breasted frenemies.


    And don’t tell me Hef doesn’t use Viagra. Dude probably eats it like M & M’s.

  35. The same thing happened to me once. Well, almost the same thing except without the whole party thing. I was in college and I was looking for a new apartment, and the landlord at one of the apartments started hitting on me during the tour of the place. I didn’t know it at the time but he was a big shot realtor with his own company and a lot of rental properties. Anyway, he calls me few days later and asks me to come to his office so he can show me some more apartments. Yeah, right. We didn’t look at any apartments that day, he just tried to woo me (did I really just use the word “woo”?). Then a few days after that, he called and asked if I wanted to run errands with him, so I went looking at antiques with him, and when he dropped me off he asked me if I wanted to go out with him. Like on a date. I really did give it a lot of thought because, hello? He was super loaded. But I just couldn’t do it. He was very nice looking, but the balding and the age difference killed it. And his last name sounds a lot like my first name, and I refuse to go through life with a retarded name.

  36. Ooh, I hope that nobody gets offended by my use of the word “retarded”. And I guess I could have kept my name, since I only would have stayed married to him long enoug to pop a few kids out and guarantee myself some money. Kidding!

  37. When I was about 21 I dated this guy who was loaded in the familiy money way too.
    His hobby was flying planes so one night he took me to the local airport where the family’s plane lived and wanted to play a little Top Gun in the plane. Whoo Hoo.

    The whole loaded lifestyle was pretty cool. You know big fucking house, monster fireplace to have sex by, the plane and the cars. Plus he was a really nice guy.

    The deal breaker? His family owned a string of successful Jewish Deli’s and he always, ALWAYS, smelled like a cross between a Pastrami Sandwhich and Lox. Even after sex and a shower.

    There a just some things a fat assload of cash cannot overcome.

  38. Now Aunt Becky, “It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich guy as a poor guy.” It could have worked! But nah, we love The Daver. πŸ™‚

    My Dad sent me to Northwestern with the hopes that I’d meet and marry some rich, successful guy who would always take care of me. I married my high school boyfriend. And I never once worked in the field I studied, journalism.

    I am so sorry, Dad.

  39. …But then again you got a trophy hamster Joey! Who else has lucked out like that, may I ask you??? you can’t have it all Ms Becks…

  40. P.S.And now that I think of it, I would have scratched those bricks slightly (for 2 mortgage pmts)… Are you having re-union anytime soon?

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