Diversion of funds

I was rooting in the refrigerator when Janet came to the table behind me and said, "I'm taking ten dollars for Emmett for dinner tomorrow. He has an away football game."

"Uh-huh."

She took the money into the other room, gave it to Emmett, then came back and made a little note of realization in her throat. "This isn't your wallet."

I turned, wondering how I'd acquired someone else's wallet. I glanced at the bag that I carry to work and saw that my wallet was still in it.

Turns out that Janet had given Emmett money from Ethan's wallet.

"I was wondering," Janet said, "why you had a picture of Ethan's girlfriend in your wallet."

Janet, Ya Goof!

Read this tomorrow and pretend it's still April

A few months ago, I came across a notice that Baskin-Robbins would offer 31¢ scoops in the evening on April 30 (today). Naturally, cheapskate ice cream hound that I am, I marked that in the family calendar and eagerly watched the day approach.

This morning, I mentioned this momentous opportunity to Ethan and Emmett, and a thought occurred to me.

"I wonder why they didn't schedule this for tomorrow," I said. "31 cents on the 31st."

"Very funny," Emmett said.

"Yeah, clever, no?"

"No."

"Huh?"

"Dad, there are only 30 days in April."

Beat.

"I knew that."

For my mistake: Keith, Ya Goof!

For not scheduling this promotion in a month that does have 31 days: Baskin-Robbins event scheduler, Ya—

No, I can't say that. Baskin-Robbins must schedule the event at this time of year to get into your head going into the summer ice cream eating season, rather than choosing March 31 or waiting until July 31. Can't fault 'em for that.

P.S. I don't know how long Baskin-Robbins has had its new logo, but I that embedded "31" is way cool.

Dire dairy dollars

Ethan and Emmett are in Vermont at Camp Grammie.*

*Translation: Our sons are making their annual summer stay with my parents for two weeks.

Janet and I have the house to ourselves back here in Pennsylvania.**

**Yippeeeee!

I drove the boys up on Thursday; Janet needed to stay home. Needless to say, every stop for food involved bacon. And we found every opportunity to stop at creemee*** stands in Vermont.

***Soft-serve ice cream, for those of you not from New England.

My older sister, Tina, said to be sure to stop for creemees at one particular stand in Jeffersonville, Vermont (everyone up there usually just calls the town Jeff). So the three of us did stop at that particular stand.

The signs featured messy handwriting but neat prices for the creemees:

$1.00 baby
$1.25 small
$1.50 large
$1.75 extra-large

I'm genetically very chea--er, thrifty, so that list made me downright weepy.

Creemee stands give you big servings. Tina wouldn't have recommended this place if they skimped on the product. I ordered a small size, knowing that there would be plenty to lick--and indeed there was.

Ethan and Emmett wanted milkshakes. The price wasn't listed, but--oh, it pains me to say it--I figured that if the creemee prices were so favorable, I would find the milkshake prices the same.

Oh, dread and fatal flaw.

The guy at the window was manning the place alone--it was a slow night--and he handed out my creemee and then went to work on the milkshakes. It was a warm night (perfect creemee weather), so I licked my entire treat away before he was done, with time to spare. With a light heart, I jauntily took the time to lay out my money for speedy payment: a five, four ones and a quarter all lined up so that I could choose the best combination for paying. I expected most of the currency to go back in my pocket.

Mr. Window Man finally handed out the goods and toted up the bill, which he announced as ...

$9.25

Oh, evil stake through a penurious heart.

I numbly gathered up my entire monetary display and transferred it through the window. I don't remember the walk to the car; I simply found myself behind the wheel. I put the car in gear. I checked both ways. I motored onto the road with a heart as heavy as if I'd accidentally driven over the cake that won the blue ribbon at the state fair.

I fumbled about in my mind for comfort. I wouldn't have batted an eye at $2.00 apiece for the milkshakes. Perhaps even $2.50. So I would easily (I couldn't go so far as to say gladly) handed over as much as $6.00. But to have miscalculated by 50% was bitter, bitter, bitter.

"Let this be a lesson to you," I told the boys. "ALWAYS know the price beforehand." I drew some courage from the thought that the experience had been valuable for my offspring.

Still ... it was hard to sleep.

To say "Keith, YaGoof!" does little justice to my mental anguish. I can only hope to get over it in time.

By George!

Once in a while, I manage NOT to goof.

Today, I was about to head off to the vending machine with a dollar bill from my wallet, which I keep in a top-secret location all day rather than carry it with me.

Then I remembered a lesson I've learned the hard way. I turned around and took along ALL the singles from my wallet. Vending machines like some dollar bills better than others. So I potentially save myself a wasted trip.

I'm so proud that I don't have to say to myself: Ya Goof!