Sunday 30 April 2017

Forget the banks, Wolverine has a real financial crisis

The Wolverine appears before you, an expression of sheer torment on her face. She is experiencing a dire crisis of a financial nature.

See, Mum, here's the thing, she confides. Michelle's birthday is on Saturday and the Wolverine and the others were going to buy her cool foundation and some other stuff.

Unfortunately, it now appears, the Wolverine doesn't have anything to put into the pot. Nada. Not a cent, while all the others have agreed to kick in either €10 or €20.

And it's going to be embarrassing, Mum, because when it was her birthday Michelle and the others all clubbed in to buy her a bracelet and that cool perfume and body lotion set.

To her shock, you evince no sympathy.

You demand to know what she did with the money Granny gave her last weekend. You seem to recall that poor Granny handed over something in the region of €20.

Well, you know, the Wolverine wheedles, the gang went out on Halloween and she might have spent Granny's money on, er, food.

On food, you shriek? The whole €20? "You had your dinner before you went!"

The Wolverine looks shifty.

Well, you know, they had to get something to drink and then there were some burgers and, then she needed to get chewing gum and stuff. And a sausage roll for Katie and Dianne.

So she was now responsible for feeding the entire coven, was she?

What about the pocket money she got a few days ago?

Phone credit.

All of it?

All of it.

What about last week's pocket money?

Phone credit and chewing gum.

It's not as if she gets that much pocket-money anyway, she whines.

Right, you say thoughtfully.

The Wolverine's expression clears. She believes you're about to stump up.

"You're not getting a single cent from me," you tell her. "Ask your father."

She has, already.

He too, it seems, has a heart of ice and steel.

And, she says, in wounded tones, even little brother has refused to lend her money.

You think of the jumble of €1 and 50c coins thrown around her bedroom.

You think of all the times she arrived home from town with change clanking in the bottom of a shopping bag because she couldn't be bothered bringing a purse.

"Tidy your bedroom and see what you can find lying around the floor," you order. "There's a recession on."

Her jaw drops.

"You're, eh, kidding, right?" she says.

Wrong.

Irish Independent

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