I have a long-standing practice of shoving change (usually in the form of dollar bills) into my pockets. In fact, in my single days, on those occasions that I got home late from work and was too tired to make dinner, I could always count on finding enough money in my coat pockets (if I didn’t have enough in my wallet) to pay for a delivery pizza. I just had to be really careful to go through my pockets before taking anything to the dry cleaners or giving anything away.
These days, I tend to carry a purse most everywhere I go, so I don’t use my pockets quite as much. There are occasions, though, especially on the weekends for which I don’t want the incumbrance of a purse. It is on these occasions, that my pockets get a little more action.
Last weekend’s baton competition was just such an event. With the bag of activities to keep the kids entertained through hours of waiting and the bag of extra competition outfits, hair pins, hair spray, etc., I didn’t want anything else to carry and keep track of, so I carried a little cash in the pocket of my jeans, to buy drinks and snacks as needed.
This weekend, as we were going about our weekly chores and I was knee-deep in helping Sapphire straighten up and deep clean her room (a.k.a. sort through unused toys to better organize the ones that actually get played with), Jim called up the stairs to me, “I think the [insert federal agency] is going to come out here any day now and arrest me.”
Now, I should point out here that my husband is the most law-abiding person I know. He is also smart enough not to do anything even accidentally that would get him into trouble. But he is also quite the techno-geek, so my first thought was that he had accidentally hopped onto a website that might call attention to him.
As he made his way up the stairs to Sapphire’s room to explain to me what he meant, my heart thumped and my mind raced. What had he gotten into? How bad was this really?
Then he appeared in the doorway with a big smile on his face and two fistfuls of one dollar bills. He sifted them onto the floor and announced, “I have just laundered money.” Oops, my pockets. My change. He had started the laundry. Hee hee.
After giggling, I sheepishly replied, “Sorry. But on the upside, I’ve always liked knowing I have an extra few dollars about the house, just in case. All we have to do is check the coat pockets in my closet.”
My dear husband chuckled and said, “Not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Where do you think our babysitter money has come from through the years? I’ve raided your coat pockets. There’s nothing in them anymore.” Good to know.
I guess the moral of this story is if you are going to have a stash of “mad money”, make sure you’re the only one who knows where it is. 🙂
Do any of y’all have secret (or not so secret) stashes of money for the emergency pizza or the like? I must say, mine has always been quite unintentional, but appreciated nonetheless. At least until it was no more. 🙂
[Disclaimer: To any federal employees who are monitoring the internet, we truly are talking about pocket change left in clothes and run accidentally through the washing machine. Any reference to “laundering” is a joke.]