Laundered money…

No. Not that laundered money.

Literally — laundered money.

Whenever laundry gets done around this casa, I usually find a lot of coin in that circular-spin-drum-thingy, after the spin cycle. It gets deposited into the guilty pleasures frog bank that sits on the file cabinet in my office. Because it’s my guilty pleasure.

A couple of years ago, I pulled this from the c-s-d-t after the spin cycle.


Five bucks, baby! Sir Wilfred Laurier is looking stern. We will have no fiscal cliff here.


I love our money. See the cute hockey players?

So. This has been sitting on my desk for two years now. At least. I can’t throw it away. It’s money. It won’t fit in a coin wrapper. What to do.

What to do.

Do you think I can tape it together and spend it?

Do you think Starbucks would take it, because I could really use an Americano about now?

What about the convenience store?

A Snickers bar wouldn’t go unappreciated.

In fact. Now that I’ve typed Snickers bar, I really want one.

I need a Snickers bar.

How about a trade?

One torn, wrinkled Canadian Five Dollar Bill for a Snickers bar.

I could tape it.

Word on the street is that they’re being replaced by a small, tasteful coin.

Just sayin’.


We’re starting the week with a blog quickie.

Monday’s in the house.