Expense Account, Mint
My teenager is sick of me. Nothing new in the history of teenage issues with parents, but she has a unique problem. It is not the usual teenage gripe about how-dumb-can-you-be or the will-you-just-get-off-my-case grunt or even how-did-you-get-so-far-with-so-little-brain eye roll. No. It’s a totally new one that will put books on managing teenagers off track. She’s fed up of me “talking money” wherever I go. Any amount of telling her that I do not initiate such conversations cuts no ice. Things got dangerous when the hair cutting lady began discussing her financial life. While daughter made retching, gagging noises, I tried to hear what the lady with the scissors said over the whine of the hair dryer. I learnt my lesson from Calvin (brother to Hobbes) who advises that it is always good to be nice to the person who holds something sharp near your neck. So I chose to answer hairdresser questions and dealt with the mutant teenager later.