I asked Kathleen for a raise tonight. I fixed a great dinner for her: corn on the cob, hamburger steak, potato salad, iced tea, vanilla ice cream and raspberries. Based on the fact that I cook dinner most nights, clean the house, take care of the yard and the vehicles - and Sam - I figured I deserved a raise. Kathleen said she’d have to negotiate with the Society to Promote and Elevate Real Men or SPERM, my union. I guess that will be okay except I think she’s doing to me what I used to do to my daughter when she asked me for money.
“Dad,” my daughter would say, ”Can I have a dollar?”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” I’d reply. “But I’ll have to take it up with the finance committee.”
“The finance committee?”
“Yeah, I can’t okay budget expenditures without their approval.”
“When could you get their approval?” my daughter would ask, keeping one ear tuned to the music of the ice cream truck passing by outside.
“I can ask at the next meeting,” I would say.
“When will that be?” my daughter would ask anxiously, dancing around on her tippy toes like she would have to run after the ice cream truck any minute or rush off to pee (or both).
“Gosh, honey,” I’d say. “I don’t think the finance committee will meet again until next November.”
I usually couldn’t hold my serious look any longer than that and would burst out laughing. My daughter would say, “Oh Dad!” and I would then fork over the dollar.
But Kathleen’s a tougher negotiator. After all, she’s an accounting person by trade and dollars and raises are serious business to her.
Boy! I sure don’t want to have to go on strike. What would I eat? How would the house get cleaned? Who would mow the lawn and wash the cars? Who would do the laundry? (actually, Kathleen usually does the laundry).
The thing is, I need more money. My income these days covers my expenses, but just barely. I’m not used to having little or no discretionary spending money. I want to buy something. Never mind that I don’t really need anything. I just want to spend some money. I think I have shopitis.
Maybe I could win the lottery. I don’t need to win the Mega Millions or one of those Lalapalooza thingys, just a couple of million or two. I’d give a large chunk of my winnings to charity. Really, I would. And I’d pay an actual 10 percent tithe at church.
Kathleen probably will tell me I have to wait for a raise until she receives one at work. That would be difficult logic to argue. I don’t like to be dependent on my wife or my union for money, but these days I am. Three bags of poop on that.
“Dad,” my daughter would say, ”Can I have a dollar?”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” I’d reply. “But I’ll have to take it up with the finance committee.”
“The finance committee?”
“Yeah, I can’t okay budget expenditures without their approval.”
“When could you get their approval?” my daughter would ask, keeping one ear tuned to the music of the ice cream truck passing by outside.
“I can ask at the next meeting,” I would say.
“When will that be?” my daughter would ask anxiously, dancing around on her tippy toes like she would have to run after the ice cream truck any minute or rush off to pee (or both).
“Gosh, honey,” I’d say. “I don’t think the finance committee will meet again until next November.”
I usually couldn’t hold my serious look any longer than that and would burst out laughing. My daughter would say, “Oh Dad!” and I would then fork over the dollar.
But Kathleen’s a tougher negotiator. After all, she’s an accounting person by trade and dollars and raises are serious business to her.
Boy! I sure don’t want to have to go on strike. What would I eat? How would the house get cleaned? Who would mow the lawn and wash the cars? Who would do the laundry? (actually, Kathleen usually does the laundry).
The thing is, I need more money. My income these days covers my expenses, but just barely. I’m not used to having little or no discretionary spending money. I want to buy something. Never mind that I don’t really need anything. I just want to spend some money. I think I have shopitis.
Maybe I could win the lottery. I don’t need to win the Mega Millions or one of those Lalapalooza thingys, just a couple of million or two. I’d give a large chunk of my winnings to charity. Really, I would. And I’d pay an actual 10 percent tithe at church.
Kathleen probably will tell me I have to wait for a raise until she receives one at work. That would be difficult logic to argue. I don’t like to be dependent on my wife or my union for money, but these days I am. Three bags of poop on that.
No comments:
Post a Comment