FLIRTING WITH FINANCE
CHAPTER ONE: LIFE ADDS INTEREST

     My name is Samantha Davis. I’m here to tell you about my love affair with money. Not a fling. Not a cash-to-the-wind romance, but a strong, interest-growing, satisfying love affair with my funds.
     Well, hold on. My finance attraction is not quite a love affair. Honestly, it’s a full, blown addiction. Yes, I’m addicted to finance. I have been for years now, and nothing you say or do can stop me. I love my financial freedom!
     There, I said it.
     And not a hair fell out of place.
     My palms aren’t sweaty.
     The gloss isn’t chewed off my lips.
     That’s because I understand my money . . . and how to use it!
     Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t start out this way. This blond haired, blue eyed, girl-next-door flirted her way to financial disaster before realizing money, like love, has a language all its own . . . a language few women understand.
     I was slow to learn the obsession of financial freedom. Now, like breathing, I can meet your gaze and confess my addiction with pride. I get to keep and cultivate my growing portfolio. I’m passionate about my assets because I made so many foolish mistakes along the way. Just like in love, sometimes we learn the hard way.
     The rock-bottom financial blunders I made changed me from a finance flirt into a finance addict. I’m here to share my blunders with you. I never want financial ignorance, no matter how blissful, to stand between you, your happiness and your financial independence. I learned the hard way. I want you to understand, loud and clear that a financially educated woman is an asset to herself and her world.
     Besides, sound finances feel soooooo good.
     Just thinking about it sends shivers up my spine.
     My education started when my father died just after I graduated high school. Through my own sadness, I watched my mother grieve the loss of a life partner only to discover she’d become trapped in the financial maze of her existence. She understood basic check writing and bill paying, but Dad’s investment, insurance, and retirement plans terrified her. Settling my father’s estate practically drove my mother to drink . . . heavily. She slowly climbed out of financial ignorance while never quite trusting herself with financial responsibility. I decided never to let that happen to me.
     But, I was a slow learner!
     My first taste of finances came with a passbook savings account my father had opened for me to stash babysitting and birthday money. How was I to know my $2000 languished under the paltry 1.5% the account offered? I didn’t understand the whole banking process until I left for college and opened my first checking account.
     As I said, my finance obsession was slow to grow. Not knowing the next step to take or what questions to ask pulled me two steps back for every forward step I braved. I had to work to develop my addiction!
     Let me take you back. I’ll show you.
     My father had the foresight to budget for my college years. To make tuition easier on my mother, I chose a state college near my home town. No sooner was I settled in the dorm, with a roommate named Parker, who would prove to be the best friend a girl could have, I headed to the nearest bank to open my first checking account.
     A small thrill ran through me when I saw the teller lines. Finance in action. I loved it. I could practically smell currency on the air. The officious looking managers sitting at desks along the wall looked so darned capable. I waited for the next account manager like the rest of America about to embark on financial independence. I liked the feeling. . . the tingle right down to the tips of my fingers.
     I imagined myself so wealthy some day that I’d be a revered philanthropist. Cities would name streets and libraries after me, Samantha Davis. The media would know me by my first name. Like Cher or Madonna.
     A sigh escaped my lips. I should get a grip. I was opening a checking account with my $2000 passbook and a matching check from Mom, not saving the world. Still, I wondered if relinquishing my money would hurt or set me free. I had to come to terms with the fact I was a checking account virgin. My mouth grew dry at the prospect of revealing this truth to the all-knowing account manager.
     Then he said, “Can I help you, Miss?”
     The pale, young man motioned me to a chair. A tad giddy, I sat my size four body into the overstuffed chair. I met his gaze with authority. “I need a checking account.”
     He slid a form under his hand. “What type of checking account would you like?”
     I chuckled, saying, “Well, one with checks, of course.” Was he kidding?
     He grinned. “Have you banked with us before?”
     I swallowed hard and leaned closer to share my secret. “I’ve never opened an account anywhere before. You are my first.”      His gaze fell to my lips as if he wanted to kiss me. He cleared his throat. “Well, miss. We have a CAP account, a Crown account, a regular account, free checking and money market checks. A lot depends on how much money you’re going to deposit and how many checks you need to write each month.” He held up a slender finger. “And, whether or not you want to deposit securities.”      I felt my nose wrinkle. “Securities?”      I think this is when he realized I really knew nothing about banking. His gaze softened. I’d swear he felt tempted to take my hand in his.

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