▸ Column · Contemporary boardroom Metropolis — the modern advice column run out of a LexCorp tower.
LEX LUTHOR replies.
Replied to by Lex Luthor, with a rebuttal from Superman.
The letter
My closest friend Renata made me her maid of honor eight months ago, and I said yes on the spot — I love her, and I figured the job was addressing envelopes and giving a toast. Since then I've spent $340 on a "dusty mauve" dress I'll never put on again, $600 on my cut of a bachelorette weekend in Savannah (party bus, two nights, a "Bride Tribe" sash), and now there's a link in the group chat for a $280-a-head "bridal brunch" on a rooftop — prix fixe, alcohol not even included. I'm a pediatric dental assistant earning $38,000 a year, and I've quietly run $1,400 onto a credit card just to keep nodding along, because I don't want to be the difficult one. Renata grew up wealthy and I honestly don't think she sees what she's asking. But I can't picture saying "I can't afford this" without it becoming a referendum on whether I support her wedding. Is there a way to be honest before the brunch bill lands, or have I let it go too long?
Lex Luthor replies
Oh, sweetheart. No. You've spent eight months and $1,400 of borrowed money buying something, and it isn't a friendship — it's the privilege of not being the difficult one. Renata is getting an exquisite arrangement: a wedding chorus that never declines, financed by a dental assistant on a revolving card. Why on earth would she stop?
Frankly, she can't even see the bill. People who inherit money never learn to read one. (I've watched men born rich sign documents that would put the rest of us on the floor; the number simply doesn't register as a cost.)
You imagine your problem is finding the gentle words. It isn't. You've already communicated — beautifully — that you'll pay anything rather than be inconvenient. That's the message she's priced in.
So change the message today. Into the group chat, one line: "The brunch isn't in my budget — I'll see everyone at the wedding." No apology. No paragraph about your salary. No softening clause she can negotiate against. If Renata turns that into "a whole thing," darling, she will have told you precisely what your loyalty was worth to her — at a markup. Let her show you. It's the cheapest information you'll ever buy.
— Lex Luthor
Superman weighs in
Lex, you'd have her fire a friend by group text and call it spine. Renata isn't running a con — she genuinely can't feel what an evening costs you, and a one-line ambush in front of nine people won't teach her that, it'll just leave you both red-faced.
Call her, friend. Just her. Say it plain: "I love you, I'll be standing at that altar, and I can't swing the brunch — money's tight, and I should've told you months ago." Give her the chance to be the person you said yes for. Folks back in Kansas never had much; the neighbors who knew it never made us say it twice. A real friend won't either.
— Superman
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