When I pulled up at the house after work last night I was met by my son with a perfectly reasonable six-year-old request. “Daddy, can we get a trampoline?”
I happen to know that he means one of the big trampolines – the ones that are so big that erecting one brings to mind the scene in Independence Day where the giant alien spaceship is hovering over L.A. “I don’t have the money for one of those,” I told him. “Sorry, buddy.”
To which he replied, “That’s ok – mommy has lots of money.”
So apparently, as far as my son is concerned, my wife is living high on the hog while I’m living like an emaciated hobo, barely scraping together enough cash to buy an occasional Slim Jim, yet we live in the same house and share a bank account. Curiouser and curiouser.
May 26th, 2007 at 11:45 am
Looks like your son has solved one of life’s big questions: “Who spends the money in the household?”.
June 3rd, 2007 at 12:06 pm
Oops, somehow my brain subbed in “emasculated” in the phrase “emaciated hobo” — please excuse the giggling, wolfie, it’s nothing personal! Probably has something Freudian to do with the giant trampoline, that’s all. And I’m liking your blog a whole lot.
June 3rd, 2007 at 3:54 pm
montucky: It’s funny, since neither one of us seems to spend more than the other - he just seemed to pick that up automatically.
jen: I’m glad you like the blog. It’s good to have another visitor. And giggling is fine, trust me…