srsly awKWARD

Today I read an article about financial etiquette—as in, how to deal with certain financial situations tactfully.

The first situation regards responding to nosy questions. A friend asks you how much you spent on something, and you don’t want to share. What do you do? This article has two suggestions. The second suggestion makes a lot of sense: if you don’t want to share, simple evade the question by saying something like “Not as much as I thought it would be, I’m pretty happy with it.” Then change the subject.

Their first suggestion, however, made me a little uncomfortable. Let’s say you meet with your friend for lunch. She’s wearing a new watch that you absolutely love. You’ve been in the market for one, but you’re really watching your finances, so you ask, “How much was it?” She responds in the manner given by this article and says, “I have a new policy that I’m not going to share prices or salaries. It’s nothing personal. I’ve just found it’s easier not to discuss finances with friends.”

How uncomfortable do YOU feel for asking a totally valid question?

I swear, no one should ever respond like that. The evasive maneuver is best. If you really don’t want to share, this is one of this situations where it’s totally fine to just lie and say, “I honestly don’t remember” or “it was a gift.”

But really: what is the big deal about talking finances? I’m not sure if it’s an American thing, but what is so wrong about revealing how much you make, how much is in your bank account, or how much you spent on something? It’s a little weird if a total stranger asks you, and I can see it being uncomfortable if you’ve been irresponsible and have poor finances. Otherwise though, is it so awkward to say, “Oh this watch? It was $400.” And what’s so wrong with that if you can afford it?

AM I MISSING SOMETHING? Anyone agree or disagree?

Sunday marks the 10th anniversary of 9/11. I lived in New York at the time, but thankfully my family and friends were safe. From Long Island, we could smell the remnants of the towers from our middle school. Though we were far enough away from the city to stay out of harm’s way, for at least the first day there was a looming sense that we could be attacked too. There was confusion—we only knew we had been attacked. Why? By whom? Will there be more?

Ten years later, I find myself living in Boston. Boston was free from buildings falling to the ground and people throwing themselves out of windows, but Boston is where the planes departed. I’ve taken flights from Logan to JFK so many times I’ve lost track—so many times the thought of terrorism never even crossed my mind. But it did happen, and it happened here. Everyone laughed when the East Coast freaked out about the recent extremely minor earthquake, but when my office building shook, my mind did not go EARTHQUAKE. It instantly thought attack. But the fear of a repeat performance isn’t what stirred me this morning. We mourn the deaths of our friends in New York, but there were victims from Boston too. I think they often go forgotten.

I do not believe in god. I do not subscribe to any religion. But reading about all the services in the Globe have made me desperately want to revisit church on Sunday. Not because of some mournful epiphany. There’s comfort in community, and I want to pay my respects.

Boston University’s Marsh Chapel is holding services all day on Sunday. A non-denominational observance will be held on the Plaza at noon. I’ll be headed there, and anyone else is welcome to join me. I hope I see you.