If the Bread is Moldy Then It Must Be a Pay Week

My life runs in two week cycles.  Here’s how it goes…

Week one is a payweek.  Things are pretty tight and there’s no milk until the paycheck goddess arrives and deposits money into my account.  Then, I am magically richer.  It’s like Christmas and I feel independent and blessed.

Dancing happily through the grocery aisles, I fill all requests.  Sure you can have that expensive, semi-nutritious breakfast treat!  Of course we can fill our freezer with frozen pizzas!  I am a worker!  I help the economy!  More wine!

Then I pay bills.  This is sobering.  In my head, I am wondering why I allowed the kids to talk me into spending so much at Target.  What was THAT charge for?  I need to stop this frivolity.  Ridiculous.  The school district should watch my child after school for free.  Blah blah blah.

Week two is fun free.  The bills are paid and the kids have eaten every crumb of the food that I had purchased the previous week.  I am crabby.  I say things like  “Does money grow on trees?”  “Do you really need a new kind of cereal?” or  “What do MEAN you need money for paper?” or  “Stop using so many pencils.” or  ”I don’t care if we have no snacks.  When I was growing up, we never had snacks.  Ever.”

Sometimes I exaggerate a little.  It gets my point across.

It doesn’t seem like the cupboard could get more echo-y.  The leftover hamburger buns are looking bad and we’re out of orange juice.  Somebody save us!  And then… miracles happen.  I get paid.

Just looked in my bread box.  The bread (what’s left of it) is looking sad and there is a package of buns from September. 

Must be a payweek.  Will be skipping through the supermarket aisles in just a few days. 

Thank you, paycheck goddess.