I know why your drawer won't balance tonight

I stopped at Dollar Tree this evening for some poster board (3 for a buck!) and owed $1.06.

It was a small pleasure to find a dime and a penny in my pocket to hand over along with the George in my wallet.

The clerk (let's call her Missy ... yeah, Little Miss MISS-y) handed me my receipt.

But no nickel.

In that situation, even a cheap ________ like I am doesn't say, "I gave you $1.11." Not that I didn't require a tick of time to check my natural reflex to do so before I went on my way.

Here's another small pleasure: Missy, Ya Goof!

The bald facts

A story from my baby sister Kimberly about her older son Tyler (with a mention of her husband Herman):

A couple of months ago, Tyler wanted me to pick up a "buzzer" at Walmart so he could start cutting his own hair. Tyler's too cheap to spend $$ on going to a salon to get his haircut, although we were still paying. In his opinion it was a big waste. Can you see where this is going?

He used it the first time, and I was there to supervise. All was good. I trimmed up the back for him, did the sideburns. Maybe he was right ... maybe this was a good idea.

It had only been about a month, and he wanted to cut his hair again. I told him that his hair was fine, it didn't need to be cut yet. Herm and I were watching the news in the living room and in comes Tyler.

"Mom?" He turns around then facing away from me. "Does the back of my hair look okay?"

What he had done was, he buzzed his hair to its normal length, taken the guard off to trim his sideburns, thought the back could use another "go over" with the buzzer and--OOPS!--forgot to put the guard back on!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There was this two inch bald strip from the top of his head to the bottom of his neck. Needless to say, I now have a 16-year-old son WHO looks like he just joined the Marines.

By the way, I'm not writing what I said after he showed it to me. I will say, I did rub in the fact that I had said his hair was fine to begin with. I can laugh now though.

Then Kimberly adds this comment directed to our big sister Tina, referring to our niece Bethany's wedding next summer:

Don't worry Tina, Tyler will not be getting near any buzzers anytime near Bethany's wedding.

And may I add ... Tyler, Ya Goof!

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.