Testimony time!
The following was posted in r/flr by u/Slow_Temperature_777
This beautiful love story is testimony of why matriarchal households work!
I dated two millionaires, and it didn't bring me happiness. FLR did.
I first shared this on Medium, but I really wanted to bring it here so more people could see it. This is a real, lived experience that changed my perspective on what it means to be 'spoiled.' I wish I had spent less of my life settling for the so-called 'best' guy and instead found what I actually needed: real devotion and submission from my partner. I hope my story helps other women assess what they truly want in life. Make a proper choice before you are committed to a non-submissive guy. Understand what you stand to lose if you are settling for a traditionally "masculine", "provider" man.
Why wanting a high-earning man is actually a low standard.
Imagine, you finally got the guy. He earns well over six figures. Unless you are among the 15% of American women — or the 1% of the global population — who can match his income, he out-earns you. And that’s what you wanted, right? The man who could “spoil” you.
You wake up next to him on a Saturday morning in his apartment. It is decorated exactly to his taste: minimalist, “smart,” and cold. He is already awake, eyes glued to his phone, tracking stock tickers and crypto fluctuations. You stretch and ask, “Dear, can you please make me an iced matcha latte?”
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” he answers, eyes never leaving the graphs and news alerts. “I had a tough week. I just want to chill in bed. Just order it on the app.”
“Can you wipe the counter?” — “Can you just do it?”
“Can you run downstairs for some bread?” — “I’m on a tight schedule; I’m heading to the gym.”
“Can you help with the curtains?” — “I’m working, sweetheart.”
If he were being honest, he would tell you directly: “My love, I worked my ass off and sold half my soul specifically so I wouldn’t have to be bossed around in my own house. Fifteen minutes of my time is worth more than a full day of your work. Do your goddamn matcha yourself — and while you’re up, bring me my protein shake.”
In the business mindset of a high-earner, every minute has a price tag. Every bit of attention is a stolen opportunity to make more money. Routine chores and gestures of appreciation — unless they can be resolved with a “buy” button — are miserable distractions from his “grand vision.” Why remember your birthday when his assistant can set a reminder? Why shop for a gift when he can tell that assistant to “buy something nice for my woman”? It’s just efficiency.
You think the “price” of his wealth is just a few lonely nights while he’s at the office? If only it were that simple. You are the buffer between his ambition and the friction of reality. When he is home, you are staring at his back while he clicks away at his keyboard. You hear the executive language of delegation, thinly veiled with a “please”:
He isn’t building a life with you; he is outsourcing life’s boring routines to you so he can remain focused on his own adventure. Eventually, you realize that because his life revolves around his work, your life must revolve around it, too. You pack the luggage; you organize the dates and trips; you prep his meals like a professional chef. You are responsible if something breaks in the apartment or in your plans, because he “doesn’t have time for that.”
The underlying reality is that your time is merely a flexible resource meant to plug the leaks in his “tight schedule.” You are the logistics manager for a life you don’t even own.
You wanted a high-earner? He understood that as “she is here for my money,” so he will continue to invest in his money and his power to keep you — or any other woman who is there for the check. That power poisons his ability to actually serve you. He is a “real man.” He is competitive and goal-oriented. But you are no longer the goal. He already won you.
You can never out-manipulate a man who won the game of capitalism. If you could, you would have won the game yourself and never needed to rely on him. When you think you are being spoiled, you are actually just being consumed.
I want to be spoiled, too. But I have higher standards.
Today, I woke up next to my partner. On weekend mornings, the first thing he does is open the curtains and kiss me on the cheek. He prepares my iced matcha latte without me asking while I brush my teeth. I return to a warm bed and enjoy that tender, grassy, milky taste while I check my phone.
Then, I smell breakfast from the kitchen: toasted sandwiches with cream cheese, tomato, and pan-fried chicken. We eat and talk — about our relationship, our future, our favorite shows. Afterward, he cleans the dishes and makes the bed while I listen to music and prepare for my work week.
He dusts. He wipes the floor. He cooks lunch and cleans those dishes, too. He goes to the supermarket, unpacks my deliveries, and takes out the trash while I organize my notes and calculate the ROI on a new feature. I drop my clothes on a chair; he folds them and puts them in the drawer.
My partner is insanely attractive and my own age — he is under thirty. I don’t have to deal with the entitlement or the stagnant energy of a man who waited until his fifties to realize he wants a family. Alas, he is not six feet tall! This means I can kiss the back of his neck when I hug him from behind while he’s doing the dishes.
He pleasures me for hours if I tell him to. He loves my body exactly as it is, hair and cellulite included. He loves me in a hoodie with no makeup. I never feel awkward or “unsexy” because I know he would devour me regardless. He knows my favorite songs and my favorite meals; he tracks my periods, knows my allergies by heart, and washes my panties and socks.
This is my life. Every day. This is what happens when you stop shopping for a “provider” and start looking for a partner.
If you think this is a fantasy, think again. Yesterday, I proposed. He said “yes.”
