by Anne Sullivan
Sylvia eagerly accepted her doggie biscuit, sitting prettily as she’d been taught.
Then, not so prettily, she spat it out on the floor.
“Sylvia!” I shrieked. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Ugh!” she said. “You call this a biscuit? It’s awful. I’d like to see you eat it.”
Instead of taking her up on her offer I attempted to explain, “It’s a different brand. I just thought you’d like to try it for a nice change.”
“Whatever made you think so? Oh, I know,” she said. “I bet it was cheaper.”
“As a matter of fact it was. Do you realize how much the price of your regular biscuits has gone up lately? It goes up every time I go to the store.”
“Phooey,” Sylvia exclaimed. “If this is the best you can do, I’m going to eat somewhere else.”
“And where would that be?” I called her bluff. “Everyone else around here already has
dogs. You won’t like them and they certainly won’t like you.”
“You don’t have to insult me.” She sniffed and soon her sniffs turned into snivels. “I’m only trying to get a decent meal without spending my entire fortune.”
“I wasn’t aware you had a fortune.”
“Not a fortune exactly, but now that the Mountain Mail is back in business, I should have enough to buy tasty and nutritious dog and cat food.”
A plan came to mind. “I’ll make a deal with you,” I said. “Next time I go to Socorro, you’ll go with me.”
A look of horror washed across Sylvia’s face as she wailed, “No – not that. Not drive with you.”
“You can do it. We managed very nicely when you went to the vet’s this summer.”
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Sylvia remarked with satisfaction.
“Yes, you did. And this will be a more enjoyable journey; no vet, just the supermarket. You’ll take your week’s salary and we’ll see what you come up with. What do you say?”
“I guess I could go. There’s only one caveat. I haven’t heard from Washington yet about solving the Health Care Crisis. As soon as I have an appointment with the President and as soon as they send me a first class plane ticket, I’ll be flying there. Or maybe Minneapolis, the way things are going. But, until then, I’m willing to go to Socorro. When are we going?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
Scene 2 – The Day
After Tomorrow
A scowling Sylvia exited from the store pushing a cart with but a few bags in it.
“I’ve spent it all,” she called across the parking lot to me. “The price on my Iams went up two days ago. I couldn’t find the brand of cat food Gordo likes. The price on my Meaty Bone biscuits went up so I had to buy smaller ones.” When she reached me, she wailed, “It isn’t fair.”
I felt for her but all I could say was, “It’s the way the economic game is played these days. The less money customers have, the more the prices go up.”
Sylvia loaded her paltry loot into the back of the pickup. “I don’t understand that at all,” she said. “Who buys these expensive things? Somebody must have money.”
“The only ones I know of are the ones who got large bonuses for getting us into this financial mess.”
“That’s not right!” Sylvia kicked her empty cart sending it skidding across the lot narrowly missing a new yellow Hummer.
“A temper tantrum won’t accomplish anything,” I said. “Some think those financiers got those large bonuses because they’re so smart.”
“Bah, humbug.”
“Get in, Sylvia, and fasten your seatbelt.”
As we headed out of town Sylvia expressed further dissatisfaction, “Why don’t we have a lap-top so I can concentrate on something else while you drive? That way I won’t even know where I am or when I’m home.”
“Why on earth would you want that?”
“I’m studying to be an airline pilot. They get paid for not paying attention.”
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