drinks are on me

Yesterday was payday (cheers to that!), a day I eagerly await every two weeks, as my bank account approaches zero and my weekly tips pass away before their time (see: by Friday), leaving my weekends sadly underfunded. Yesterday, I was especially excited about payday, after days of feeling far too poor, confused about my lack-of-cash condition, and its seemingly worse-than-most-weeks severity. Had I procured an extravagantly expensive item in my recent past (elephant, yacht, diamond-encrusted tiara) and then forgotten about my purchase and the painful financial impact of such an acquisition?

I was still pondering this possibility when I ventured into the safe (yes, they let me touch the money) at work yesterday afternoon to retrieve my much-needed (for meals) paycheck, with its pathetic promises of not-so-big bucks. To my surprise, that safe contained not one, but TWO checks made out in my name. Has there been a mistake, I wondered, or is the payroll department awarding me some extra cash as a You're Awesome, Have Some Money bonus?

Turns out, in addition to being awesome (and humble), I am also absent-minded, to the point of foolishly neglecting to claim my check when it arrived two weeks ago. No wonder I’ve been feeling financially unfit: I’ve been surviving on half my usual (and already unimpressive) income, a consequence of nothing more than my own blatant stupidity. And while I am now reaping the benefits of an accidental and self-imposed payday delay, it’s depressing to discover my recent days’ diet of mostly oatmeal could have been supplemented with something more substantial. Like sandwiches. Or scotch.

But seriously. Who forgets to get paid?

(Please refrain from mentioning the Direct Deposit Bandwagon, a bandwagon onto which I should probably jump, but won't, as it stands in opposition to my inherently (thanks, mom) controlling nature.)