Raking the yard yesterday afternoon, it occurred to me that I would enjoy the chore a bit more if I could convince myself that each leaf was actually a $100 bill. Because I’ve seen only one or two $100 bills in my entire life, my natural disbelief willingly disengaged from the task at hand, and this idle fantasy became real.
Yes, money DOES grow on trees. And then it falls at your feet. The lawn was littered with Benjamins. Quite suddenly I felt that I WAS scooping up armloads of crackly, crunchy cash.
“So this is how Carlos Slim Helu feels,” I thought, as I stuffed another fistful of wealth into a bio-degradable plastic sack. “There is too much money! At least there’s too much out where people can see it!”
I felt the neighbors looking at me as they drove by.
The air was full of dollar dust as I knelt on the bag and squeezed the air out. The thin plastic skin was so tight I could see enigmatic smiles on all the air-starved Franklin faces inside.
“How much cash is on this lawn?”, I wondered. I tried to estimate but quickly realized I would need the help of a fifth grader to do that, and they were all in school learning that you have to become educated because you will not find a fortune in the crabgrass.
It didn’t matter. I had become the kind of person who doesn’t need to count stuff because I have stuff counters on retainer! So rich, I do not need to think about how rich I am, or what it takes to support my extravagant lifestyle. Just get the moolah out of sight so people won’t bother me while my it keeps me afloat. And as I piled my moneybags by the curb for pickup, I thought about all my trucks converging on Switzerland, or the Cayman Islands.
It was a craven, selfish daydream, but it got the lawn nice and clean. I am sorry about fighting with squirrels for the scraps. But it’s MY YARD!
What would you do with a bag of money?