A fable: On a lovely fall day, they drove away from the city, admiring the leaves turned crimson and gold. But the thoughts of our players were on a soon to be enjoyed romantic interlude at the Cozy Country Inn. Jan and Joe had been seeing each other for a few weeks, and the time seemed right for greater intimacy.          

         Their instincts were true. Their liaison was passionate and satisfying.

         The next morning, they entered the dining room feeling optimistic about their future, born of their new closeness. Over blueberry waffles they talked:

                Jan: So, tell me more about your job.

                Joe: You mean what do I do, day to day?

                Jan: Well, what do you earn?

         Joe was silent and raised his hands to his chest, palms outward in the universal gesture of: back off.

         They traveled home in silence.

         An exaggeration? Perhaps, but perhaps not.

         Why is it so difficult, even with an intimate, to talk about money?

         Except for close family, I have few friends with whom I talk freely about our finances, what we each earn and what we have accumulated. I've inquired of others and learned that most have even fewer confidants for such talk, some not any. Even family members are often kept essentially in the dark, and know better than to ask. And if someone does pose a question, doubts arise.

         What is the questioner's motive?

         Will I be judged inadequate, unworthy?

         Will I build a false expectation of largess?

         If she earns more than I do, will I be diminished in her eyes?

         We comfortably talk about the money of others, often scoffing at those who've accumulated millions and continue to relentlessly strive for more. We ask: when is enough enough? Money doesn't buy happiness, or so we reassure each other. But we do not turn to our conversation partner and ask about their finances, unwilling to risk undermining an ego, theirs or our own. Personal talk about money is the ultimate taboo.

         Does what we earn or own define our intrinsic worth in the eyes of others? Is that the essential fear?

         It is easier to share in the exquisite privacy of the sexual realm, and reassure both ourselves and our partner of the potential for mutuality, and of our value to the other, than to expose our ability to compete for dollars, judged by the external standards of society. Then our ego strength is in the hands of others, the fickle marketplace. So we hide?

         The moral of the fable: The one gleefully stripped bare in the bedroom, in the counting room must be afforded ample cover.