Ocean’s Three

My daughter is doing swimmingly… Now.

There are many ways to exert money out of parents.

I’ve heard the whining method to the oh-what-we-could-do-with-a-few-dollars approach. You name it. They can often end with petitions of pretty please and sugar on top.

I’m not a tight wad.

I don’t have a wad to be tight about.

That doesn’t matter for my three children. All they know is that there are a few bills in my wallet and coins in my pockets, and for them this means riches worth anything to pursue, no matter the tactic. They are my Ocean’s Three and I am their Las Vegas casino.

I’ve kept them at bay for the most part.

But then came the direct approach.

My eldest daughter walked into my home office, a.k.a. their second playroom, and placed a note on my desk and stood there with her arms crossed and her face stern until I read it.

I picked up the note and read it without looking at her.

“You need to give me $250.”

Then I turned to look at her and I saw a face that meant business.

I paid up.

Then I thought, man, she’s only eight. How much will she be demanding at 16?

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