My Bank Account Is Screaming, and Honestly, Same.

Hey besties, it’s Tina. Pull up a chair, but don’t ask me to pay for it because, as of today, I am officially declaring myself a charity case.

I was just sitting here, looking at my banking app—which, by the way, is the scariest horror movie I’ve seen all year—and I had a realization. Every single time I spend my own money, I feel like somebody needs to reimburse me. I’m serious! I’m out here living my life, paying for basic necessities like rent, electricity, and the occasional $18 salad that I didn’t even enjoy that much, and there’s a voice in the back of my head whispering: “Who is going to pay Tina back for this?”

Is it just me, or does it feel fundamentally wrong to have to exchange your hard-earned cash for things you just need? Like, I worked 40 hours this week. I was a productive member of society. I didn’t roll my eyes once during that three-hour Zoom meeting. So, why am I now being penalized by having to pay $80 for groceries that consist of three lemons, a block of cheese, and some laundry detergent?

I feel like I should be able to submit an expense report to the Universe.

• Item: Gas for my car.

• Reason: I have to go to work to make money to buy the gas.

• Outcome: Please Venmo me immediately, God.

The worst part is when you’re doing something nice for yourself. You go to Target for one bottle of shampoo, and suddenly you’re at the checkout with a new throw pillow, three candles that smell like “Midnight Dreams,” and a set of gold-plated measuring spoons you will never use.

As the cashier reads the total, I genuinely feel like I’m being scammed. By who? Myself? Probably. But I still feel like a victim. I tap my card and think, “Okay, I’ll let it slide this time, but I expect a refund from my future self by Friday.” (Spoiler alert: Future Tina is even more broke and has a very bad attitude about it).

I think the problem is that I have the taste of a billionaire and the budget of… well, Tina. I see something I want, and my brain says, “You deserve this, queen.” Then my bank account says, “You are a peasant, sit down.” Whenever I’m forced to spend my “own” money on things like car insurance or a dental cleaning, I feel a physical ache in my soul. That’s money that could have been spent on a cute outfit or a weekend trip! Why am I paying for my teeth to stay in my head? That feels like a government responsibility, honestly.

I’ve started treating my life like I’m a high-flying corporate executive on a business trip.

• Lunch with the girls? That’s a “networking event.” Someone should reimburse me.

• New skincare routine? That’s “maintenance of company assets.” Where is my refund?

• Ordering UberEats because I’m too tired to boil water? That’s a “productivity stipend.”

I’m still waiting for the checks to start rolling in. If anyone knows who is in charge of the “Being a Girl is Expensive” department, please send me their email address. I have a stack of receipts that will make them weep.

In all seriousness, being an adult is just one long cycle of moving money from one place to another while crying slightly. We work to live, but then we have to pay to live, and by the time we’re done paying, we have to go back to work. It’s a scam! A beautiful, exhausting, expensive scam.

So, if you see me out and about looking stressed while tapping my Apple Pay, just know I’m currently calculating how many days I have to skip Starbucks to make up for the fact that I had to buy new tires.

To everyone else who feels like they’re owed a refund for the crime of existing: I see you. Let’s all go be broke together. (But you’re buying the first round, okay?)

Stay fabulous (and hopefully reimbursed),

— Tina