I still have that $50

My dad came in June and tossed an envelope on the coffee table with my name on the front and a smiley-face sticker on the seal.

"It's for your grades," he said, referring to the line I've gotten since kindergarten from my grandparents, when they used to give us money for As on our report cards. Only, they never really asked for report cards.

Anyhow. That's not the point.

It was from my grandpa, ostensibly from Christmas (this is how Nieses roll ... late). $50. Sweetness!, I thought. Because if there was one thing Grandpa told us, it was that we had to spend the money on ourselves, not necessities like electricity or food. OK, twist my arm. I guuuessss I'll spend it on myself. Gooosh.

So I did. I got a book. Two, actually.

Only I kept the $50 with me for a while and spent "it" with a debit card. So there's still that $50 bill lying around. Which means ... to me, in a moment of "should I or shouldn't I?", I vote "I should!" because, hey, it's my money, right? It's what he would have wanted me to do.

But that was more than $50 ago. Oops. I got those two books. And some clothes. And another book. Oops.

Hey, I asked for help, though.

"Dave, remind me when I say 'It's OK, I have that $50,' that I don't have that $50 anymore," I told Dave as we walked out of the bookstore.

"Yeah, that'll be your excuse for everything now. $300 later you'll still say 'It's OK, Dave, I still have that money from my grandpa!'"

And that's how I roll. Broke. But I mean well.