No Refunds

Last night, as I was gathering leftovers from the refrigerator, Younger wandered into the room, snatching at some cash lying on the counter. “I did get some money, today,” he noted, gleefully.

I lifted an eyebrow at him. “Why did they give you money for sitting at a sale barn?”

“That,” he announced, sticking his nose into the air, “is the price for being in the presence of my winning personality.”

My husband snorted. “I think I want a refund, Younger.”

Younger clutched the green bills against his chest and cried, “No refunds.” Then, hunched over his treasure, he scampered from the room.

So, apparently, Younger has a selling price.

Any takers?

Just remember, no refunds.

And no returns.

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