Because It Rhymes With Booze, Son

Ever since Christmas, thanks to his “Grandmama,” L. (a.k.a. “Bu“) has had some cash of his very own.  Since he’s yet to give me a clear answer when I ask him what he wants to spend it on, I just tossed the money in the same basket I drop the contents of my pockets when I’m at home, and left it there until he can make up his mind.  I, of course, take special care to make sure that his money doesn’t get mixed up with mine, but this has still raised a few concerns for some.  “Don’t forget that’s his money,” I was told. 

So I promptly explained that I’d never do something like that, because that money is my Bu’s money, and I was raised to respect the importance of something like Bu’s money, and so long as I have anything to say about it, my Bu’s money will never  be spent for any other purpose. 

This explanation didn’t quite have the effect I was going for though.

(You might have to have known as many drinkers as I have in my life for this to be funny.)

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