Come in! Come in! Welcome to our home. The couch sags and smells like dog and old cigarettes, the kitchen ceiling is caving in, and our laundry room doubles as an ice-house in winter. Food’s good, and the company is fair. You might find yourself relaxing a bit once you move away from the dripping ceiling and off of the malodorous couch.
Fifty-cent Mom? Not a dollar? Not a million? Why fifty-cents? One time I wrote the wrong amount for a family campout. When we got there the organizers said, “You’re fifty-cents short.”
Fifty-cents short. Fifty-cent Mom. Nothing brilliant - just the sense that some days I come up short- not a lot, but fifty-cents. Everywhere I go I feel like I come up short. I’m rarely perfectly attired (the iron and I don’t see eye to eye), I rarely speak eloquently since my foot is often stuck in my mouth, and I’m not really comfortable at parties despite dancing on the tables. I’m a writer, but still fifty-cents short (I’m still getting more rejections than acceptances). I can’t balance a checkbook nor estimate. I complain too much and appreciate too little. Some days I’d rather stay in my bedroom and read, but the dog needs to be fed and let out.
While the rest of the world demands I pay up, my family is willing to take what I have to offer, and in return, give me unconditional love. Being the shopper that I am, what a deal! For fifty-cents, I get a lot of love.
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Where did this journey begin? On a cruise. Mr. Right stood on the deck and when our eyes collided, it was love at first sight.
If you asked my oldest sister, however, she might give you a different depiction.
"Carol met this guy on a cruise and was able to get him to pay for her $4 drinks - plain and simple. Oh, don’t forget, he knocked over one of those drinks and told the waitress Carol spilled it."
Yes, I admit, I was willing to let this guy buy me drinks. He told me it was so he could get a collection of Carnival Cruise glasses. I was just trying to help him out. Besides, she didn't hear how he had bragged about meeting all the beautiful women on the ship the night before he had met me.
“See that woman over there?” He pointed to a provocative woman with a pierced belly-button. “I danced with her last night.”
It must not have gone well if you’re here with me. I said nothing but smiled politely. Just buy me a $4 drink and shut up. More smiles.
The last night on the ship, he whipped out his little black book. Just one more way he really impressed me.
“Here, put your address and phone number in here.” He panted from nerves.
Next to all your other girlfriends? I smiled once again and put in the correct address and phone number.
Then he picked up two champagne glasses from his nightstand and invited me up to the deck. Notice, he didn’t invite my sister along. He poured out the two-dollar bottle of pseudo champagne and we toasted (if my memory is correct). He leaned closer; I shifted away. He moved closer; I leaned over, ready to jump. Can’t we go to the bar and get another $4 drink?
The next day as we were riding in the back of the shuttle bus to the airport, he bent over and rifled through his red duffle-bag. He sat up with a piece of paper and a pen.
“I lost my black book! Put your information here!”
Would he figure it out if I give him the wrong phone number and address? The temptation was strong. Then I reasoned that he would probably lose this piece of paper as well, so I put the correct information down.
On our first date he said I lived much closer than the girl he had met the year before on a different cruise. Which was why he preferred me over her...She was a candle maker and lived in Ohio. Do you know how far Ohio is from Illinois? I just couldn’t wait for him to find another candle maker from somewhere else!
With this story, it is truly a wonder how we ended up married, but it sure explains how I became the Fifty-cent Mom.
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