The Coin Count

Twenty-three dollars and some change. That's what was in my wallet on Thursday and I had to make it work until the end of the month. Not in a dramatic way, nobody's calling it a crisis, but in that quiet, practical, slightly embarrassing way where you stand in the pasta aisle for a full two minutes deciding between the sauce and the box of penne.

I brought both things to the counter, obviously. And then at the register I did the thing where you already know the total is going to be over budget but you're hoping the cashier's math will somehow come out different than yours. It didn't. I put the sauce back. Ate the penne with olive oil and salt, which is actually fine and I'm not complaining, just documenting.

the math was not mathing

I got home and counted out the coins I keep in a little dish by the microwave, quarters mostly, a few dimes, one Canadian nickel that has never once been useful to me, and laid them out on the counter to see where I actually stood. Gerald was doing his thing on the windowsill, third new leaf fully unfurled and looking extremely unbothered by the financial situation in this kitchen. Good for him.

made my peace with the pasta-only situation

The month is almost over and I'm going to be fine. I just wanted to write it down while it still felt a little funny, because at some point being twenty-one and broke stops being charming and starts just being a problem, and right now it's still on the charming side. Barely.