A Dime

The other day, B wanted to stop at the store to spend his DIME.

I said to the boy, "Boy, you will not, in this life time, find anything worth buying for a DIME."

And he stood, head held high, shoulders stiff. (I think that's his "Why do you STILL question me?" look.)

Because we needed bread anyway, we stopped at the grocery store.

He marched down the aisles with great purpose, checking the prices on every kid-level item.

Items that he would never need; like those panty hose eggs I didn't even know they sold anymore.

And hairspray.

Boxes of cereal. And soup.

An older man asked him what he was trying to find, and I told him: "He's looking for something that costs a dime", and the man laughed LOUDLY, and offered, "Good luck to ya, kid!"

B gave him The Look and kept walking. And searching.

While I tried to decide between wheat and rye bread, the boy came upon a magical bin of bulk food cookies. His eyes lit up. "One of these?", he gulped.

I really wasn't sure, because I suck at math, and the price was listed by the pound. I told him he could pick one out, and he could owe me if it was more than the tent cents he had in his grimy hand.

The price of the freaking cookie?

Nine cents.

The kid went home with a penny. He proudly went home with a penny, I mean.

And apparently, he arrived home with LOTS more. I'll get to that tomorrow.