The other day, Younger asked for money to purchase one gadget or another.
“You already owe me money,” I reminded him.
“Oh. Yeah.” He titled his head to the side. “You know, I think I should charge an hourly rate for my mere presence. And you would owe me money.”
So I explained some economics: “That only works when the demand is greater than the supply.”
And his dad explained some economics: “She already has to put up with me for free.”
But the only economics Younger learned?
His mere presence isn’t accepted as part of the product-currency exchange at Walmart.
Younger has decided he doesn’t like economics.
The other day, when I questioned Elder about one of his classes, he answered then asked with honest confusion, “Why do you care?”
“Because you’re my son,” I responded. “Because I’m paying part of the bill.”
“Dad pays the bills.”
My mouth dropping open, I was unable to reply for a few, long seconds then I squeaked, “What do you think I work for? Popcorn?”
“Mom,” he replied, patiently. “Dad is the one who sits down and pays the bills.”
Of course, my literal son meant the statement literally.
And since we were on the phone and I haven’t actually mastered the art of reaching through a phone for his throat, he survived the misunderstanding.
Not that I’ve ever reached for his throat.
I mean, you know, literally.
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.
Just remember, no refunds.
And no returns.