OK, that's satire, but so help me God, this is real:

"I began to think about my options: I’d have to sell the cottage in West Palm Beach immediately. I’d need to lay off Yolanda. I could cancel the newspaper subscriptions and read everything online. I only needed a cell phone. I’d have to stop taking taxis. And who could highlight my hair for almost no money? And how hard was it to give yourself a really good pedicure?
Then there is my jewelry. I’ve always collected nice watches and pearls. In the back of my mind I’d think, “Buy good stuff because if you're ever a bag lady, you can sell it.” It might have been a rationalization then—but here I am now: The nightmare may be coming true.
Before I reached for a bedtime Tylenol PM that night, I Googled the Hemlock Society. I wanted to know a painless way to die. Would you believe the Hemlock Society no longer exists?"

Oh the humanity! I'm sorry this moderately rich lady got hustled by her even richer friend, but her story just doesn't add up to sad. Thanks to the inimitable Princess Sparkle Pony. You know what they say, "You can't cheat an honest man." (or woman)