Yesterday I noticed that my bank opened up a new branch near where I live. Since I’m 88 years old, this was wonderful news.

I immediately decided to take out some fresh cash from the cash machine.

I put in my card, pressed “shitload” when it asked me for what amount I wanted in $20 bills and waited. I like to pretend that I’m in Atlantic City when I withdraw cash so that when the money is doled out, I pump a fist in the air a little. Usually my own.

Except this time there was no cash dispensing. There was no fist pumping. Instead there was a message saying that the service I requested could not be performed right now.

It’s hard to believe that some people think that Anti-Semitism is no longer a problem in America.

A few things ran through my mind.

First, I considered that because these ATM machines were new, they hadn’t yet been trained in cash dispensing. And yet, as I looked to my the cash-retrievers on either side of me, I saw that they were getting barrels full of money out of the bank. Why, their legs were practically buckling!

Second, I thought that maybe I already took all the cash out of the account, which would be sad; although the Lucy and Ricky skit that would await me once Husbandrinka found out would make for excellent blogging fodder. Always with the silver lining, I am.

I wanted to check the balance, but the ATM let me know that this service wasn’t available to me, either.

Which left me with only one possible explanation:

Husbandrinka fell in love with a younger, more beautiful woman, canceled my card, got one for her and forgot to tell me.

The more I thought about this, the more it made sense. I called Husbandrinka.

“The machine isn’t giving me cash,” I told him.
“What machine?” he asked.
See? If someone didn’t have a guilty mind, would he question what machine? I mean, what machine usually gives you cash?
“The ATM machine,” I tried to speak in measured tones. No need to escalate matters ahead of time. The Snapped episodes always start out matter-of-fact.
“No clue,” he said. Probably while booking a get-away from Belize for two, minus me.

I decided to put it out of my mind. That’s not hard to do, because I’m very forgetful.

Until I went to do some grocery shopping and the very same debit card was declined. DECLINED.

“BUT I NEED THIS FOOD!” I started to protest/audition for Les Miserables. And then I paid for the groceries with cash. Cash that could have been used to buy wine.

After a few more phone calls to Husbandrinka, during which he has properly lawyered up and pleaded ignorance in the fifth degree, I called the bank.

Apparently, the bank claims to have found some suspicious activity on my card and sent me a new card, suspending this one. They were sorry for the inconvenience and I was sorry that I didn’t go through my mail. We agreed that they would overnight the new card to me so that the nation’s economy wouldn’t feel any further adverse effects.

I just hope that I find it in my heart to forgive Husbandrinka.

Please welcome The Flying Chalupa, my very last guest poster! For now. She is hysterical and you’ll even learn something. Please check out her blog, and my favorite, How To Diaper a Pterodactyl. And make sure to follow her on Twitter! -Marinka

I can’t find any Benjamins at the moment, but I gotta fistful of Washingtons that wanna throw some learning in your face.

It’s never too early for financial literacy, yo.

If your toddler can say “I need the [insert name of character from Pixar-animated film] toy” – it’s time to get in their face and ask if they want to be a baller, shot-caller, or brawler. Each comes with its own economic perils. Especially the brawler, because breaking shit can run up the tab and get you thrown out of that pricey Montessori faster than you can say “It was Mel Gibson’s fault.”

VALUE MEAL, BIZATCH

Pop open a bottle of Cristal and hash out the values that are most important to you and your spouse. Make sure you’re on the same page of your synchronized iPads. Surely we can agree on the basics:

A latte is worth any price.
A penny on the street might not be worth the swine flu.
A quarter on the street that buys you 15 minutes of parking is definitely worth the pink eye.
Money doesn’t grow on trees, it grows on little machines that you must prune fortnightly.
A toddler in Beverly Hills is worth two in Bismarck.
No crayons in the chromed-out Benz with the spoilers.

ALLOW THIS, SHORTY!

An allowance is meant to be:

1. A learning tool
2. A salary
3. Entitlement

If you answered “2,” holla! You’re the proud owner of a Mini P. Keaton, the toddler version of the Alex P. Keaton from Family Ties. This kid is stackin’ chips on a rainy day, tryin’ to bury seven zeros over in Rio Dijaneri. He’s got direct deposit to the big time – and maybe even the Big House if he doesn’t stop inflating the price of Toys-R-Us stock. As a parent, you should probably siphon off a percentage of your salary straight to your chump-progengy and prepare to be featured on MTV’s “Sweet 16,” where the world can see how you’ve been fleeced by the asshole you raised.

If you answered #3, yo, the little Goodfella in the room down the hall is called the “Tricky Schroeder” – or the toddler version of the Ricky Schroeder from Silver Spoons. She’s all “Damn, woman, I want five carats on my hands wit the cuts” and you’re all “Shut the hell up and eat your veggie plate, we are NOT going to Zales again.” You’ve created a beast. A beast who wants a diamond grill for her obnoxious chomper.

If you answered #1, you can proudly say that you are raising a veritable Kimora Lee Schwab. Check it. You’re talkin’ about expenses vs. savings. Toddler teeth whitening today vs. the Rolls in high school. The size 3T velour track suit today vs. the Cannes Film Festival for the 8th birthday. A great approach. And what about a dollar per year of age per week? Using the Gangsta Mork-Rule-of-Aging, that would be about $83 a week. Just enough to dress like Lil’ Kim but feel like Mother Theresa.

THE CHO THING

Chores and allowance are the horny teenagers that need to be locked in separate bedrooms before Planned Financehood gets involved. Chores is a good kid, always working, working, working – his sticker chart bling-blingin’, but he confuses the situation, aight? Allowance would ask herself: if I give myself to him, will I respect him in the morning? Probably not, Allowance. Money for a Chore when it should be for love? Wait until you’re a little older, yo. It’ll be better, fo’ shizzle.

NOTORIOUS W.A.N.T.S.

Even by age 3, the Biggie Smalls of your household think everything is NEED NEED NEED! Educate them early about wants vs. needs. And as we all know, the basic needs as decreed by at least three interns at Source Magazine are:

1. Food (never cooked by you and from a deep-fryer after midnight)
2. Water (either the Vitamin kind endorsed by Fidy Cent or from the ice cubes in your Grey Goose)
3. Shelter (the Mandarin Oriental is preferable, but you have an open account at the Holiday Inn)
4. Clothing (line known for it’s gold lame and faux fur and retailing across the country)

TEACHIN’ – IT’S COOL LIKE DAT

Use everyday occurrences to teach your little beastie boys and girls about money – and if that means interrupting their gin-and-juice-box-time, then so be it. Mother-daughter facials? Discuss cost and tip. Using the helicopter to get jiggy through rush-hour traffic? The cost-of-gas and the saving-of-time discussion. And whenever you need the personal chef to whip up a DJ Jazzy Grilled Cheesy? People employed. Economy fueled.

DROP IT LIKE IT’S HOT – AND FUN!

Parents just DO understand – that having money is fun! Nothing but fun! Don’t let your kids lose interest. Go to the bank, take out several thousand dollars in one dollar bills, and fill up the bathtub. Presto! Swimming laps in luxury, just like Uncle Scrooge did on “Duck Tales.” But beware of paper cuts, homies.

THE YOUNG GOLD DIGGERS ASSOCIATION

Encourage the entrepreneurial spirit of your young Wu-Tang Clan by offering to pay start-up costs on the bizness of their choice. Blow that popsicle stand and go straight to what the market demands: high-class toddler entertainment at social functions. Why should people pay a shit-load for midgets – or Snooki – to make an appearance at a party, when they can get REAL little people for a fraction of the cost and a quarter of the booze? For realz. It’s time to put Bone, Thugs ‘n Harmony to work. Because a 3-year old singing “Straight Outta New Canaan” at a nursing home is thing to treasure.

GIVE IT UP

For giving. Your prechooler should pass along his do-rag to someone less fortunate. Does Ol’ Dirty Bastard, the German Shepherd, really need a diamon-studded collar? Does your daughter need a gold-plated potty? What about that guy with the lazy eye who hangs out in Starbucks every morning? You should totally give him that free iTunes download card. Enrich people’s lives with music! Start a foundation! A foundation called “Hard Out Here For A Pimp.”

____________

In no time at all, your pride and joy will be saying “ain’t nuthin’ but a ‘G’ thang” and truly understand the value of a G.

Because while Washingtons are tucked into g-strings and Benjamins get you a table and a bottle, a G will get you respect.

Word.