Friday, October 1, 2021

Called Out At The Drive Through

TBG asked me if I wanted to go on a Mini-Date this afternoon - run an errand and pick up some lunch.
It was the nicest offer I'd had all week.  I didn't have to change from my work out clothes; I wasn't getting out of the car.  We would be dining in the parking lot, under our usual tree, after collecting our lunches from the girl at the drive through window.

We ordered at the speaker box.  The total was $12.09

TBG opened his fanny pack - the black leather one I bought him at the Marin County Farmers' Market in 1992 - with a purposeful air.  We were fourth in line; we had plenty of time.

He kept searching.  I began to feel around in the bottom of my purse for some coins.  I came up empty, but my husband announced, with more than a little satisfaction, that he had, indeed, found none cents.  

By now, we were one car away from the pick up window and the cheery girl (I am sure she is 50 years younger than I am ..... she's a girl) who wanted twelve more dollars than TBG was currently holding.

I unzipped the teeny tiny pocket in the lining of my very small purse.  I pulled out my wad of bills - bills jammed in, randomly, crumpled but secure behind a zipper.  I'm unused to cash and, to be honest, I'm unused to dealing with people in person.  I rarely use it.  When I do, the leftovers are shoved into the safest place I carry.  

When observed by others, I will admit that it looks like Beaver Cle,aver revealing the contents of his pockets.  Some, the 20s from the ATM, are folded neatly staying flat because I slid them against the outer, firm side of the pocket.  Most, though,  are wrinkled and stuck together in a bizarro world origami of randomness.  

It is embarrassing when I'm in public.  This afternoon I was in the car with my husband who was, understandably, bemused by the condition of my stash - the stash which, incidentally, easily provided that which he lacked.  

By then, though, it was too late.  He had already started shaking his head and smiling at me as he began listing all the reasons that I had violated the respected order of things:  legal tender, a piece of our government, the way we pay our bills,  deserving respect and honor and and and the drivel and the giggles went on and on as we pulled up to the window  where the sweet young thing smiled down at our laughter and said "$12.09, please." 

And my date nodded as he put the coins in her palm, then handed her the bills..... and said the wrinkled ones are hers.

Such is the state of my social life.

I was laughing again as I wrote this; TBG asked me to read it to him.  Through tears of laugher there was this:
Sweetie, for many things I will defend you to the death, but on this you deserve to be busted.


  1. You know you are an established couple when HE asks you out for a date and YOU end up paying. This did remind me of the time, years ago, my husband "invented" a small iron to take to restaurants so as to give near, unwrinkled bills for the tip.

  2. Oh, dear, I didn’t even think of that! And what is it about men and neat bills?????

  3. I guess men have "bill folds", which we now call wallets. I have crinkled bills too.

    1. Yes, he does! And I have little zippers in my purse! THANK YOU!

  4. I always have cash, and a full tank of gas. This became a primary concern of mine after Hurricane Katrina. I want to be able to leave town in a moment's notice if necessary.


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