As the Laundress of this house, I make it a point to keep all monies I find during the clean-up. I mean, if I have to deal with shredded kleenex swirled around in the wash, or petrified apple cores, I’ll consider this lost money as a tip. If you can’t remember to empty your pockets, then you deserve the shakedown, as far as I’m concerned. The same rules apply for change lost in the bowels of couches and places like that, but of course, that’s a rarity since I almost never move the cushions for vacuuming. (Have I ever mentioned how much I loathe vacuuming?)
So, as I reached into the barrel of the washing machine the other day, pulling out the wet stuff to toss into the dryer, I heard a familiar clattering at the bottom of the bin. At first I wondered if I’d find some freshly washed screws or a little car or something. Instead I found a small handful of change. JOY!!
Two dollars and seventy-seven cents, freshly washed and gleaming, just for me.
I raked the coins up with my fingers and stuffed the change into my pockets, smiling smugly to myself, until I realised… it was mine. The doggone change was mine, out of my own pocket.
*cue sad trombone*
Whatever. It’s still nice to find money sometimes, right?
Now, confess… you keep the monies too, don’t you?