how to be a millionaire

BC and i are talking just before bedtime as we always do. usually, she demands that i tell her a story from my life, or a story from someone in my life’s life. i’m full of stories (among other things, an impolite but probably accurate person might say), so after some prompting, i conjure up a tale.

but last night, after imagining what BS and i looked like on our wedding day, it is BC who launches into a mini reverie.

mama, i know what daddy should dress up like for halloween next year!

what, i reply.

daddy should dress up like a millionaire.

intrigued, i pursued. and how, darling, do millionaires dress?

well, daddy could wear a white suit, with a white top hat, and a golden sash around it. his suit would have gold buttons on it.

is that how millionaires dress, honey?

yes, she replied.

do millionaires ever dress like daddy and me? i ask.

no. a very definitive no from our lady of macaroni and cheese.

oh well. there’s no hope for us, i guess.

wait til i tell BS he needs an october costume that’ll make him look like a cross between the monopoly man and a pimp.