Never Too Late

Yesterday, February 22nd, I was chatting with Mother. In passing she mentioned that she had to go drop off the rent payment. Yup, she’s a tad tardy, a mere three weeks into the shortest month of the year. Worse, she told me she’d scribbled on the envelope: “Sorry to be late. My desk is so messy!” I guess she was aiming for cheeky, as she considers herself an aging ingenue. I ordered her to get another envelope and write: “My husband has been ill. I could not get this to you sooner.”

Late payments used to be Daddy’s specialty. When the Lord & Master and I were buying our home, I discovered that, although he’d insisted he’d been handling the college loans in my name, he was 97 payments behind. We promptly paid off the whole shebang, but my credit was crap for seven years. I discovered Hot Pants and the Little Stinker were also the recipients of Bob’s deluded bookkeeping system. Clearly, money’s a bugaboo with our parents.

The L&M and I operate on a system he has dubbed the “Field of Dreams” theory: Spend it and it will come. From our vast purchasing experience we’ve decided that material things can make you happy. And we’re spreading jubilation among merchants far and wide. In case you were wondering, that Murano chandelier I picked up last fall in Venice? Still in the box. As soon as we get someone trustworthy (i.e., not us) to unpack, assemble, and hang it, there’ll be even more joy crammed into our humble abode.


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