Gifts

When I was little, my Dad would occasionally do something called "storm work." He's a lineman, and big storms cause massive power outages, so he would work monster overtime for several days.

That was cool, because it meant a larger-than-expected check. My folks made this "bonus money," and although I'm sure they often employed it in useful and less-than-exciting ways, it also usually meant a TOY.

Not necessarily literally a TOY, but it meant there would be a totally gratuitous item. They would ensure I got SOMETHING and that it was clear that it represented MY SHARE of the surprise money. This normally wasn't anything crazy, but a new pair of shoes or something along those lines.

I always thought that was fun.

When I was a young Marine and broke consistently at the end of each pay period, PAYDAY was the holiday. Once I was less broke less often, I still made it a habit to out and get a steak on payday.

Mr. Abby and I do that now, even though we don't wait on paydays with bated breath and floating checks anymore. The 1st and the 15th are Steak Days.

I like to celebrate the little financial victories. Tax refunds, travel claims, that kind of thing, although normally earmarked for less-than-fun crap (I hate being a grownup. Who wants to spend money on appliances and vehicle repair?), usually also occasion a small new toy, dinner out, or abnormally good cooking at home.

This is all a really long explanation of why the Bad Dogs are being hysterical. Since we sold the house, I promised each of THEM a bonus item. Sparky is going to get a brand new squeaker toy, and Casey is getting a new bed.

As soon as the wire transfer clears. Which I'm waiting on. They know I'm headed to the Critter Store (because I told them), and they don't understand why, since I put on a belt and shoes, I don't LEAVE ALREADY.