Dancing on My Table

Took the chicken back to the supermarket as I didn’t want it smelling to high-heaven in MY rubbish bin – the collection was not for 4 days – treble-wrapped in plastic bags. It was all very civilized. I fetched a nice plump fresh corn-fed free-range chicken, this time putting my glasses on to check the use-by date (just between you and me, failure to put on my glasses could have been the cause of the whole stuff-up really, although Luke told me it shouldn’t have been sold on the day it was expiring … poor chicken, if you don’t get eaten, you just expire), signed the docket and got $18.99 change. Damned good deal, really.

Except daughter reminded me that I hadn’t quite paid my dues and that $18.99 was really hers. How’s that, I asked? Our deal is that if you get a B+ or more in an exam you get a little payment as a reward for your hard work and as an incentive to carry on the good work. I’d paid up for the A’s but somehow had missed the B+. She hadn’t, and pounced when she saw her chance. Cash being a rare thing in our household these days.