For Richer & For Poorer

ONE - Eugenie

The cameras are rolling and I'm not even wearing my dress.

The production of For Richer and for Poorer stops for no woman.

"Don't you think they'll notice we're wearing the wrong clothes?" I whisper to my roommate, Mariah, when she sits down beside me on the couch and they turn the bright lights onto us both.

"Relax, Eugenie. If anyone says anything just pretend we didn't know which bag was meant for which of us."

I mean, who would think I'd look good in bright yellow and Mariah would look good in deep blue? It seems reasonable to say we were confused.

The suitcases in the corner of our shared room would disagree, as they have our names literally seared into the side.

Maybe we can claim we can't read? The producers do seem to really want to lean into the poverty angle. I wasn't expecting them to take the 'for poorer' part so literally, but at least the clothes they supplied seem to be of good quality.

Still, I feel like a monkey in a zoo, dressed up in a funny costume. But a contract is a contract and twenty thousand dollars could save us from homelessness. So, tight blue mini dress it is. We get through this interview and onto the show, we'll be well on our way to saving our home.

"Tell us a bit about home," the producer asks, sitting down across from us in a small folding chair her assistant carried in with them. "What's it like back in..." she pauses to check her notes, "What's it like back in Calgary?"

"Oh, Calgary really is beautiful," Mariah gushes. "I mean the culture and history is just so robust there's never a shortage of things to do there. And the biking and walking paths along the river are unrivalled."

"I've heard that, yes," our interrogator agrees. "But what is your home like? Tell us about where you live."

Mariah, who promised me she would do all the talking and I wouldn't have to say a thing, completely freezes. Like, staring into space, sweat beading on her temples kind of freezes.

It's a good thing I know the whole story better than anyone else alive. Pressing my fingernails into my palms, I throw on the biggest fake smile I can and turn slightly towards our producer, leaning in a little for effect, just like Mariah had shown me.

"Would you believe me if I told you we live in Mariah's family home?" I ask, pausing for our interviewer to gasp and flip through her notes. Probably second-guessing which side of the 'richer or poorer' we're on.

"It's a long story, really, but Mariah inherited it a couple years ago when her grandmother passed away. It's a beautiful Craftsman home almost at the center of town, which is a pristine location but very expensive. It's been difficult, but it's important to keep it in her family and I need a place to stay so here we are. Unexpected roommates."

Our interviewer seems to relax. She's slotted us correctly. Poor.

"Like I said, it's a beautiful home but with old houses of that kind, you know how it is. There's so much upkeep involved in maintaining the property. We're up to the task, though, and we're determined one day we'll see it restored to its former glory."

"What kind of repairs are we talking? Are you girls up on the roof replacing tiles or pulling up floors? Give us a sense of the renovations."

I explain some of the smaller projects and mercifully, Mariah's ability to speak returns somewhere in the middle of my explanation and she hops in to discuss the necessary work in the kitchen and the complications of having a home built back when electricity was barely even invented.

Our producer, who tells us her name is Susan, eats every bit of our story up like it's being fed to her off a silver spoon.

She asks a standard set of questions after that about why we're here and what we're hoping to find in a partner. We've answered these questions already maybe sixteen times on forms and interviews and all sorts of background checks, but apparently they want us saying it on camera.