In the monthly race to get all the checks cleared, the bank won again. An automatic withdrawal came two days early and thanks-for-playing-try-again it's bank fee time.
Even Vegas odds are better than this game. If you win you keep what you have, if you lose you pay them. And they get the advantage of the "we'll-take-it-when-we-want-it" insurance companies on their side.
Then again, I probably shouldn't be trying to juggle anything, let alone our books. Numbers and I have a rather unpleasant history dating back to when my first grade teacher repeatedly rapped my knuckles for counting on my fingers. To further the insult, the ruler she used was covered with numbers.
Mr. Carney offered to stretch my grade to passing on the Geometry Regents exam if I promised to never take math again. My college accounting professor wished I would have kept that promise.
Me and numbers are like me and my first husband. We don't look good on paper and the reality is much worse.
After two hours of pouring over Quicken and the bank's online statement I finally subtracted the bank fee and another 63.23 that I showed I had, but the bank said I didn't. It's my money, but their bank.
Quicken, of course, demanded a category for that random deduction. I called it JF for Judi's Fault. I think our tax accountant keeps us for the amusement factor.
In my way of thinking, numbers don't count.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs