Skip to main content

The Daily Syphon

Sure it's a cliche, but somewhat true:

Every time I walk out my door, Gotham manages to make me $100 poorer. Okay, so some days it's $20, some days $4, some days $233.65. But I don't know how the city can act like such a money suck.

Here's a tally of the Rabbit, Prince and my day yesterday:

Ratatouille: $28 (2 adult tix, one child)
Bagels/coffee/choc milk before: $20.65
Popcorn (SOOO necessary) $5
Apple store (not an iPhone and NOT drooling over it) $88
Cab home: $9
Drinks for friend's birthday: $43
Babysitter: $40

Tally: $233.65

Granted, it was a Sunday. Granted some Sundays are spent in the park with bags of grapes, cups of coffee, a $1 bottle of bubbles and the paper. But then there are those Sundays where money hoovers from our pockets.

Makes me seriously long for an afternoon with just a book, some water and sunscreen for The Rabbit on the beach that it would cost us just $3000 to get to in Mexico.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

What Price Romance?

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...