I’m a freelance designer. Always have been. My work was always enough to keep a roof over my head, even put my kids through school, but never enough for… well, for the kind of life my Western friends seemed to lead. The fancy cocktail bars, the expensive dinners. I always told myself I didn't care. That it was superficial. That my family, our traditions, were more important. My parents, they taught me to save every penny. To work, always work. And I did. I thought that was enough. Now, my wife and I are splitting up. It’s not ugly, just… finished. And suddenly, my income feels even smaller. I used to get invited to happy hours, to drinks after work with the other freelancers, even a few of the agency types. We’d go to these places, dimly lit, overpriced drinks. I’d nurse one cocktail, maybe two, while they all bought rounds. I figured they just liked my company. Or maybe they liked the stories about my parents, the old country. It always seemed to break the ice. But then, the invites stopped. Not all at once, just… faded. I asked one guy, “Hey, you all going out this week?” He mumbled something about keeping it small, about budgets. Budgets. My budget. Is that it? Did they only invite me because I could afford *one* drink? Not because they actually wanted to talk to me? Because I was a novelty, someone to feel good about including, until my financial struggle became too… real? It stings. It actually STINGS. And I never thought it would. Is that pathetic? To care about happy hour invites from people I only barely liked? Is this how it goes? You hit a certain age, a certain financial situation, and suddenly you’re just… invisible?