Monday, August 9, 2010

Money Doesn't Only Talk, It Walks!

Since when does 200 minus 32 equal 3?

That's what I was asking myself today, as I handed over 7 bucks to the girl working the drive-thru window. Yesterday, there was $176 in my wallet, left over from my two weekend purchases. After lunch, I was left with $3. I was absolutely livid! I pulled over, dumped my purse, went through my wallet, and nothing. No hidden 20s, just 3 lonely ass 1 dollar bills. I had plans for that little bit of change. Important plans. Plans that will not be carried out because of someone else's plans. I didn't want to think in terms of living amongst a theif, but it would be stupid of me not to, given the fact that the monies of others have a tendency to come up missing on a regular basis. I always try to keep careful watch over my possessions, especially my purse, but alas, I got a little too comfortable. Seems, at grandma's house, you have to store your shit behind lock and key if you plan on enjoying it yourself. The slightest slip up will have you parked at an intersection, nose turned up at fast food getting cold, crying into an empty wallet.

Because I have a suspect, I headed back to grandma's, packed a couple days worth of things for myself and Emma, and decided to come down to a friend's house. I can't close my eyes in the same house with her daughter tonight, and shit, she shouldn't close her eyes in the same house with me! All the thoughts that entered my mind were evil. All I could see was my fist connecting with her damn throat. As hard as the cash that I have is to come by, to have someone go into my purse and take it, and not take some - but all, is the ultimate disrespect. It would have been easy for me to forget that she's 16 years old. I wanted to be on that ass like white on rice, and still might!

After calling my grandma to inform her, she said she'd ask her about it. I'd feel a little better if she said she'd make her empty her pockets when she came home. I will surely never see that money again. When my grandma does ask her about it, she will deny it, as always. She's been denying shit from an early age - like when my digital recorder came up missing, and she swore that she was not guilty of taking it. Surprisingly, it was her guilty little voice all over it when I found it months later, hidden under my grandma's bathroom sink. Oddly enough, that is where I found my white clutch last month!

I wonder what else of mine does her ass try on when no one else is looking.