He's tried hiding cash in the house, but I sniff it out -- "Hand it over, honey."
So now he's thinking that since I have to hold my nose every time I get in one of our cars I won't be thinking he's come up with a new hiding place.
I am ordering biscuits for breakfast and pancakes for lunch because the dishes won't be done until dinner because we had guests last evening. I am sitting in the Tudor's line, smelling the money, wondering if the Tudor's people are going to notice the nightgown, but the car is so dirty, I don't know where to start looking.
Is it in the ashtray, behind the pennies? Is it under all the turnpike receipts? Is it under the caked-in juice spills and sippy cups in the drink holders? Under the seats? Is it in the vehicle registration envelope? No, no, no, no and no.
But it's in there, I know it, and I am going to find it.
Suddenly, I look down in the compartment on the door where CDs and dirty Kleenex and dirty paper towels are kept and see a folded bank envelope. It's not bulging, but it's not empty either. This tells me immediately that there are $100 bills in the envelope.
I seize it and count it. Excellent.
Finders keepers, losers weepers!
Everyone at the bank knows me, so I always drive up to the business window where I can chat with the Chase Bank girls, who seem to know everything that happens in our house. ("Is it true, Mrs. Herz, that you collapsed in the yard this summer over your husband's cats?")
So I chat with the girls unless I am on the phone giving orders to someone, in which case I do not have time to talk.
I tell them what happened, and they think it's fabulous too! They all gathered around and said, "Well, we're just going to put this money where it belongs, now aren't we?"
Reach Tracy Herz at tracyh...@gmail.com.