Change

Okay, okay, change really is money. I, personally, never treat it as such; I get it, I throw it on a table or a dresser or in a drawer, and I forget about it. J. actually uses his to purchase things occasionally, but also has accumulated a large change collection. Yesterday he hauled most of it to the bank—just the dimes and quarters, not the near-worthless pennies or the disproportionately large and heavy nickels—and dumped them in the change-to-real-money machine. When I got home, we had the following conversation:

J.: Guess how much money all that change turned out to be worth?

Me: Um...fifty dollars?

J.: Pfft!

Me: Seventy-five? A hundred?

J.: Two hundred and forty-one.

Me: Shit.

So, okay, yeah, it's money. At least if you wait long enough. Maybe in two or three years we'll have collected enough for it to be money again.