My Confession: Will you please stop prying into my finances? And shut up about your own?

Please, please, please: Will you stop talking about money? You've been my best friend since we were teenagers, and yes I know your dad is an accountant and you grew up helping him fill out tax forms. I admired the way you'd budget your money when we were in college and afterwards, your system of cash-stuffed envelopes and spreadsheets. It seemed so much better than what I was doing, namely getting drunk and buying rounds for the bar and hoping I wouldn't overdraw my checking account. And I'll always be grateful for your help with my student loans and, yes, my taxes.

But that was 10 years ago. We're adults now, with good jobs and good salaries, and frankly, it's not your business anymore. I'm happy to talk, generally, about salary negotiation, and I'll ask your advice when I need it, but please: I don't want you to know how much money I make. I certainly don't want you to know how much money my husband makes, or how our money's invested. Did I really catch you peeking at an account statement when you were over last week? Yes, it was in the pile of papers on the table, but do you have no sense of when to just look away?

And you know what else? I don't care how much money you make - and I don't actually even want to know. It was even a little awkward when we were waitresses and we'd compare tips at the end of the night, but now it's just tacky. And that's what bugs me the most: it's like you've forgotten that this makes people uncomfortable. God help me the day you're at our house and end up telling the neighbors how much you make. Yes, yes you would do that. So, please: Shut it. Can't we just talk about sex or something?