And other perfectly plausible excuses for not spending in this economy… Frankly, with the amount of times my children ask for something — from $2 gems for Dragonvale to a dress from Justice to a new iPhone, I’m assuming they believe that money either grows on trees or at the very least flows to us on a river of gold.
“Someone cut down our money tree.” This is the line I used to explain why my son would not be getting the new iPhone 5 the moment it hit shelves, like some of his other friends, who shall remain nameless. “That’s right, just yesterday I was fanning myself with fresh dollar bills, off the darn thing and today… gone,” I waxed.
“I remember the old days, circa 2000, when times were good, the tree bloomed so plentifully. I would walk out and stare into the buds, too blurry to tell what they would blossom into, but so excited by the prospects. The beautiful $20’s and even a rogue $100 here or there, opened in glorious subdued hues of matte greens. Benjamins and Jacksons — the good ol’ boys. Recently, the soil has not been as “rich,” if you will, and Washington, old faithful, as I like to call him, has been the only one to flower.
The spots once reserved for George and Abie became clusters of kernels, heavy copper and silver colored nuts, that plunked down on our heads at even the slightest gust of wind. Every once in a while, a seed would hit with concussion causing force… “Damn Susan B.” I’d curse at it, and then plant it, in hopes of growing another tree. Alas, the bush it bore only sprouted subway tokens, which are of no use in the Florida suburbs.
Each Tuesday, I would pluck all the ripe bills from the tree, as Wednesday is the day the lawn people come. Well, need I say more. It’s so hard to find honest help these days.
But today, well today… I don’t need to worry about picking the fruit, because the tree is gone. All that’s left is a hole in the ground and some scattered pennies that even the horticultural filchers found not worth risking back injury for.
“So, no new iPhone 5 for you OR ME, for that matter.”
My son walked away confused and mildly appeased. Next I will explain to my husband why the boot fairy made a recent visit to my closet.