FRAUD ALERT!

I was three glasses of wine in when the fraud department called.

It’s no surprise that I’m a smoker. I have been a smoker since a wee-young age, when my mom told me not to, but my older cool friends provided the proper peer pressure.

“Just do it. You’ll be cool.” But my mom said I shouldn’t. “Are you going to let your mom run your life?”

It really wasn’t my fault. They made me do it…practically held me down by my arms and legs and shoved that smoking cigarette to my clenched lips. What was I supposed to do? Say no?

A little bit more than a few years later, I’m still defying my mother and smoking cigarettes like that gum candy that blew puffs of powder out the end of the wrapper. I would assume they stopped manufacturing those incredibly hard pieces of rolled stick gum by now. Not to mention, the price of the real ones are far more expensive, economic inflation not included.

 Like clockwork, on the tenth day (there are ten packs in a carton) I purchased my cancer sticks, as my mother still calls them, by inserting my fun money debit card into the money collection electronic device. I’m not sure why I call it my fun money when the money earned and deposited into that account primarily pays my last student loan. Basically, my fun money wasn’t really that fun in the first place and made my conversation with the Fraud Department the highlight of my evening, sarcastically speaking.   

As I poured a fourth glass of wine, because why not, the Fraud Lady and I conversed about my supposed most recent purchases. It went something like this…

Wah-wah, Peanuts teacher talking

No, I don’t need another phone line. Why would I spend a hundred dollars at Boost Mobile when I already pay $250 for our new phones and unlimited data through a competitor?  

Wah-wah, Peanuts parent talking.

No, I’m not really a Victoria Secret kind of gal and would not spend a hundred dollars there. I don’t need “Pink” pajamas and under-roo’s to make me feel pretty. Come to think of it, my last under-roo purchase came in plastic packaging from Target about six years ago. They’re still good. I wash on delicate.

Wah-wah. Wah-wah.

Three hundred dollars?! For bail?! (Sip of more wine to gain composure) No, I don’t know anyone in jail nor had been recently sent to jail. Heck, I don’t even know anyone who needs a lawyer. I do know lawyers. Wah-wah. No, I’m not cool enough to have friends needing a reprieve from prison life. Maybe if I hung out with more criminals, I’d be more exciting.

Wah-wah. Peanuts parent talking.

Yes, all this started with a bad habit.

Wah-wah. Wah-wah.

Yes, it’s possible the same people who made me start smoking are the ones who needed bailing out of jail.

Wah-wah.

No, I don’t remember their names.

Wah-wah.  Wah-wah.

Yes, I’ve come to realize that maybe they weren’t really my friends in the first place. (major eye roll)

Wah-wah.

Yes…Okay…Ninety days?…Uh-huh…Yes, I do have one last question. Is there enough money left in that account for a bottle of wine?