I still play the game when I'm stuck in traffic, stuck on a runway or stuck with myself. Now, of course, because of inflation, there's one thousand dollars in the pocketbook.



I pretend to buy vacations a lot. Then I have to decide which is more important - how far away I want to go or how long I want to be gone. Either way, I always promise to send myself a postcard saying, "Wish you were here - still".

On the other hand - the one with the pocketbook - I rarely pretend to buy clothes. Less is more when I'm trying to decide what to wear. I could give all the clothes I don't like to the thrift store, but I already did that. I gave them the quilted, pink, leopard vest Cousin Walter gave me for my birthday.

Because I don't like to clean, I've thought of hiring a weekly cleaning service. When the money ran out, I'd be cleaned out and have to clean again.

A fear of being cleaned out is why I never consider investing. I don't want to buy worries. What goes up must come down and I don't want to worry about the gravitational pull of reality.

I've never considered buying lottery tickets either. I'm not lucky when it comes to lotteries. The last thing I won was a feathers-still-on pheasant, which the butcher told me to age by hanging it in the kitchen for three days. Because I had to pass the pheasant on my way to the bathroom, I aged more than the pheasant did. No, I want something tangible to show for my money - something besides a toilet seat decoupaged with lottery tickets.

My grandmother always wanted me to buy a memory by doing something for a stranger - a random act of kindness. Good karma is priceless; but, Grandmother, there are millions of strangers out there.

I wonder how many of those strangers know the government doesn't print one thousand dollar bills anymore. I'd thought about framing one as a symbol of my already having everything I want. Oh darn, I can't. I have to spend the money.