And then we spent part of it on tacos

I was sorting through mail and getting myself a glass of water, and suddenly Dave puts $40 in front of my face.

"What's this?" thinking he's going to want me to go change the oil in the car or something. We don't regularly just hand each other $40.

"It's for you."

"Why?" Question or not, I grabbed the bills and curled them into my hand.

"I found it."

"From what?"

"It was in my bag, from the wedding," he said, pointing to the one he took to Tennessee that he hadn't used since the honeymoon in October.

Awesome, I thought. Money we didn't know we had! What is this, the best Sunday ever? Then ... wait. "How much did you find?"

"Don't worry about it," he said, quickly Velcro-ing his wallet shut and trying to put it in his pocket. I grabbed for it, and he ran around the kitchen, the dog at our heels.

"How much do you have? Let me see!"

And because my pleading can beat his running in circles around the kitchen any day, he stopped. "I have $40." He smirked.

"Let me see."

"No."

"Dave."

"OK, fine," he said, revealing $40, plus an extra $10 bill and seven ones. "It's mine!"

"It's ours -- why do I get $40 and you get $57?"

He sighed and offered me the seven one-dollar bills.

I grabbed the $10 from his wallet.

And then we laughed, because us finding money or having cash at all isn't what we do. Our money? We spend it or we rub the change in our pockets against other coins, hoping to make baby dollar bills. "Come on, little dime! Gimme a $5!"