My father was the kind of dad who then wouldn’t let me drive anywhere until I could change a car’s tire by myself three times. (Flat tires were frightening and dangerous. Being helpless in the face of one? That was simply foolish.)
My father was the kind of dad who sat me down with a pencil and a calculator the day I got my own account at Huntington Bank. “Money is to be respected, Elizabeth,” he said. “And the best way to respect money is to know exactly where yours is. So balance your checkbook every month.” To this day, my husband, Steve, will shake his head when he sees me working in the midnight glow of my desk lamp, searching for a missing 78 cents.
In “Suze Orman Thinks I’m a Slacker” (published in this month’s Reader’s Digest), comedian Heather McDonald withers under the financial guru’s exasperation when McDonald admits she doesn’t know the mortgage rate on her house or what stocks she’s invested in—but says not to worry because her husband does.
My father? My father was the kind of dad who would have liked this story a lot.
Just found the worst page in the entire dictionary. What I saw was disgraceful, disgusting, dishonest, and disingenuous.
Client: We need you to log in to the YouTube and make all our company videos viral.
My cat just walked up to the paper shredder and said, “Teach me everything you know.”
“Just because you can’t dance doesn’t mean you shouldn’t dance.” —Alcohol
@yoyoha (Josh Hara)
My parents didn’t want to move to Florida, but they turned 60 and that’s the law.
Q: What do you call an Amish guy with his hand in a horse’s mouth?
A: A mechanic.
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