My daughter handed me a fistful of pennies.
“Put these in the bank, Mommy!”
Proud of her thrift, I said “sure!” and picked up her pink plastic bank.
“No, YOUR bank, Mommy. I put my pennies in YOUR bank.”
“Do you want me to drive there now?”
“No! Go to your desk!”
I went over to my desk, and looked for a bank, but there was none to be seen. There were many papers and magazines, a couple of empty coffee cups, and my pride and joy: the new electric typewriter I still hadn’t used, for which I’d paid two weeks’ salary.
“I put my pennies in here now,” said my child, and took a bright coin from my hand.
Just as my daughter put her penny inside, I noticed the air vents looked like coin slots .
“Give me the others,” she said.
I watched my typewriter die.