Having a bit of coin is something I used to understand.
Big Pie, up in Rat Portage, explained it as having enough cash to make a down payment on another piece of equipment without sending his wife, Sweet Charlotte, into a frenzy about pending financial ruin.
Hollerin’ Harold in Emu (home of some really strange birds) considered it another drum of toonies he could bury. For Pickle, it means an order of toast and peanut; for the Runt, it’s toast, peanut butter, and jam.
As for me, I think it’s being able to fully fund my coffee break for another week.
It’s different for the current tug of war between my wife, the Pearl of the Orient, and the two heirs in the gene pool. It started at Christmas when she presented them each with a piggy bank and a roll of toonies.
“There, you go you can spend them on anything you want,” the doting grandmother explained.
“Oh goodie! A new pair of jeans” enthused one, clapping her hands
“No! A new fancy make-up kit,” cried the second.
“But,” added Lala. “If you save it, whatever you have left by next Christmas, I’ll double it!”
This started a whisper session and a lot of finger counting. There was no more mention of immediate purchases.
We didn’t know how serious the situation had become until a month after Christmas, the questions began.
“Lala, are you still going to give us a toonie for every ‘A’ we get on our report cards?” asked She Who Cannot be Denied.
“And whatever we have in our banks next Christmas, you will give us double?” wondered She Who Can Scheme.
“Of course,” confirmed Lala without much hesitation.
“What if it won’t all fit in the piggy bank?” they asked in unison.
“Don’t be ridiculous, those banks will probably hold $100 each, no problem,” shot back Lala, still confident in the ability of the gene pool to spend.
“Oh no! We already put $300 in each one,” explained #1.
“That means you will give us $600 more each, right?’ giggled #2.
“What!” gasped Lala, shocked at her success in instituting a saving program.
“Yeah, we put the rest of our Christmas money in, plus our birthday money will go in, too,” enthused #1.
“And don’t forget about the $2 for each ‘A.’
“We’ll have three reports cards each before then. That’ll make, let’s see . . .,” calculated #2, pausing to count.
Lala gasped. I resolved to hide my coffee fund cash.
Maybe I’ll switch to that new-fangled exchange—the bitcoin. But that sounds like another scam, as well.
Another way for youth to rip off us old toots.