I Know a Guy

I know a guy that has nine kids. Wait, need for exclamation points!!! Yep, nine, four from his first marriage, four step-kids from the second wife, and a new one from the both of them. I know a guy that works like an animal dawn to dusk, then goes home to the big family. They live in a modest house they rent, but no one goes wanting. I know a guy that other people might look down their noses at, thinking he's some sort of white trash. I also know a guy that has an 840 credit score. Guess what...SAME GUY!" Yep, his shit is definitely together. He may not look like most people's idea of upper-middle class, but fuck those people, those pretentious judgmental douche-bags. When he goes by in his new boat, all those people might think he's one of them. I know a guy, gold Rolex. Real estate guy. You know the type. A hint of some fake blue-blood accent, fuchsia color shorts, red and white striped seersucker shirt. Big house, new car, wife all silicone and nip/tuck. You've seen it, face stuck in his phone at the restaurant, car dealer, in traffic, in the bathroom, boat shoes with no socks on a workday making it look like he's on top of the world.  And he's in hock up to his eyeballs. One false move, one accident, one unforeseen expenditure, one more uptick in his credit card percentage rate, and dude's tits-up. His credit rating is oddly still high. Lenders love someone leveraged to the max, but any moment, the sword of Damocles will fall. Bye bye private schools. See ya later long vacations. Trade the Mercedes for that Mitsu. Someone else is going by in your boat. Oddly though, ask someone who they would like to be, and they'd probably tell you guy number two. Not me. I'm just guy number one with a little different history and a bunch fewer kids. It changes the meanings of "Look out for number one," and "Don't be number two."