My son has discovered capitalism, and it’s entirely my fault. The other day, he asked me, “What do we use money for?”
I was distracted while running errands and didn’t give a well-thought answer. “A lot of what you see here requires money. The food we eat costs money. The house has a mortgage, which means your Dad pays a bank money every month, we pay for the cars and the gas that goes in them. Our lives, sadly, require money for almost everything these days.”
Now he’s charging for everything, and it all costs the same amount: fifteen dollars and twenty cents. The magic portions he makes? $15.20. The juice made from mythical fruit? $15.20. (If only our mortgage and car payments were also applied to this system, it might just work.) And today, he’s started charging for passage up the stairs, even though I was in a hurry to the bathroom. I shoved the imaginary fifteen-dollars (“and twenty cents,” reminds me) into his hand, and run to the toilet.
He then informed me if I want to go back downstairs, it’ll cost me … a banana. Or else I go to banana jail.
[This post was written in January. I thought it had posted. We went through a terrible bout of the flu through most of January, and I didn’t realize this hadn’t published. Yesterday, he charged me $15.20 for sushi.]