|My type of cat|
Does anybody else struggle with giving exact change? The moment I go for those little coins my wallet shrinks to Barbie size, and my fingers grow as fat and uncoordinated as a baby's. I find myself apologizing, my hands are shaking, and I’m pretty sure the little old lady behind me is getting annoyed.
Thing is, exact change gets no respect. I know, because I was born to a coin disrespector.
|A floor covered in perfectly good money. Disrespect!|
But I love exact change. I love coins, especially quarters. I love turning over the exact amount (sidenote: lately all my transactions have been costing $xx.26. How weird is that? Should I be playing that number in lotto or something?)
My love for change started as a savvy young teen. It's back to school time, I've got no job, but a craving for all the high fashion Delia's can offer. This, right here, was a conundrum.
Ever the businesswoman, I spotted pools of money just laying around the house, big buckets brimming with potential (and Delia's clothes).
So I cut my mom a deal - let me get at that loose change ma. She did me one better - for however much I wrapped, she would match me. The naive woman thought that I'd lose interest, that I didn't have what it took to wrap all the change in the house.
Ha! Don't doubt me lady. I spent that summer on a coin-rolling spree, sometimes using machines, but mostly moving my deft fingers over piles of money, forcing them into little brown paper cylinders. I couldn't be stopped.
And at the end?
Nearly $400 in change was laying around my house.
The moral of the story - never bet a kid bent on Delia's.