When I was young I daydreamed and contemplated a lot.  I was contemplative.  I wanted to know why everything was the way it was....I looked for reasons...I asked questions.  And there was one question that always spun my imagination around and around:

How was it possible that we were so broke?  

It didn't make any sense.  We were nice people.  We were hard working.  I got good grades.  My mother never cursed.  Why weren't we rich?  

Then, after one afternoon of thinking and listening to Gloria Estefan,  it dawned in me:  we WERE rich.  "My mother was simply holding out.  That's right," I thought, for years.  "That's the only explanation for our perpetual state of 'not enough'.  It's a mere illusion designed by my mother to make sure my sister and I have good heads on our shoulders.  Heads that were screwed on tight, not skewed and spoiled by lavish abundance.  Heads that weren't too hot or flighty.  Good heads.  It made sense!"  I thought there was no way that she could ensure that we would be humble and kind, thrifty and thankful;  there was no other way for her to ensure that we would know the value of a dollar, and that we wouldn't be frivolous with money.  Yes, that was it!  We were so rich, that she had to raise us in poverty to make sure we weren't pompous, self-centered, spoiled brats.  That made sense.

I thought the reward for enduring poverty without complaint would be that, on my 18th birthday, my mother would stop the charade and bestow upon me my limitless inheritance.  I'd have so much money that I'd need two bank accounts to hold it all.  And it would be endowed money, so it would never run out. (Yes, I knew what endowments were... I loved the word... it was my hope).  Yep, at 18 it was all going to rain down on me, pressed down, running over, the abundance would overflow.  18 was the magic number.  

Time passed.  18 came and went.

Then 21.

Then 25... after all, you can rent a car without paying extra for insurance at 25, surely my mother would trust me with the money at 25.

I'm 29 now, and I haven't given up on my theory.  There is still time.  I know my mother is filthy rich.  She's going to give all of her wealth to my sister and I once she knows we are prepared for the world.  Completely prepared...  She must be waiting on Sabrina (LOL, just kidding)... 

Maybe she's waiting for 30....

She better not be waiting until Sabrina's 30, 'cause then I'll be....

Nevermind.