SCENE: EXCLUSIVE INTERNATIONAL tropical hotel. I’m sitting by the pool, margarita in hand, sunglasses on – looking at share charts on my laptop.
Mid 60s deck chair neighbour wearing retina-damaging speedos, a forest of body hair, sporting an over-tanned big brown belly leans over to me. “What’s that you’re looking at, love?”
Me: “Share charts”
Him: “Oh, so your husband does a bit of investing, hey?”
Me: “Well… actually… no. He’s into property development. I’m a trader.”
Him: “Isn’t it nice he can support you in your little hobby.”
Me: “Well… actually… it’s a team effort, but it’s more like my trading supports his property investing. I earn the money and we both use it to make more money.”
Him: “He must be proud you have such a nice little hobby to keep you busy.”
Me: “Well… actually… it only takes a couple of hours each week.”
Him: “You’re a lucky girl to have a husband who sends you on nice trips like this.”
And that, my friends, is why I prefer hanging out with my fellow traders. There are vast hordes of unwashed civilians out there in ‘non-trader-land’.
In the end, isn’t it just easier to hang out with people who want you to do well and ‘get this’?