Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Borrowing From Becca
Is it just me, or is everybody broke lately? Even my grown children who always eat out at nice restaurants, buy their kids cool clothes, and whose living rooms look like Best Buy are suddenly hurting for extra cash. I know it for a fact because I tried borrowing a little money from them this week.
They all have a certain Money Personality that reveals itself when confronted with a possible loan. But my daughter Becca has by far the most extreme responses, so of course, I went to her first just for the practice. Borrowing is her specialty, (not loaning), but I used some of her lines and tactics that I've picked up over the years.
I started out rather high- "Could you spot me a fifty till pay day?"
You should have seen the look on her face. You would have thought I just crapped my pants in front of her! It was a scrunched up face, with narrow, disgusted eyes that scanned my torso as though I was a lice-ridden stranger.
She finally composed herself- at last realizing-"Hey, this is my Mom here. She gave birth to me, fed and clothed me for eighteen years- got me that expensive Tommy Hilfiger backpack I cried for when I was a Junior in high school."
She backed off, rubbing her lips in deep thought and then smiled like the Grinch.
"Well, how about twenty-five?" I asked, feeling like I was asking to drive my dad's car for the first time.
Becca propped herself on the sofa, crossed her legs, flipped through a magazine, and shot me a look over the rim of her glasses.
"Don't think so...", she hissed.
She shook her head no.
"Eight?" I pleaded.
Then I decided to try the Famous Guilt Complex Formula that she had formulated as a child and still uses successfully as an adult.
"Becca, do you remember the time you just had to have that red prom dress and couldn't afford it? I didn't have the money either, but I pawned my typewriter, your dad's golf clubs, and your sister's college fund so you could buy that dress that you only wore for two and a half hours on prom night."
She wiggled uncomfortably as I gave her the Sad Doe Eyes.
"Ok, Mother," she finally caved in, "Here's what I'm gonna do. Spot you a five today, but in return, I get dinner at your house three times next week, free video rentals on your account, a Saturday of babysitting, and that twelve pack of Coke in your fridge."
She scrunched her eyes again in disgust, waiting for an answer.
"What are you doing, Mom?"
"Crapping my pants," I heaved, thankful that I had two more kids.