Carl Owes Me Forty

Nothing new here under the sun, but I’m just so over Carl eating my stuff. I don’t know what it is about money and Carl, but he seems to have an other worldly sense for when there’s money in an unattended envelope. Yeah, I know I shouldn’t have turned my back on Carl with an envelope of 20’s on the golf cart, but the level of vigilance that is required to never, ever get your stuff eaten by Carl has proven to be beyond me. Think about how many speeding tickets you’d have by now, if you never, ever, ever, got away with speeding. Not once, not ever. As in, every time you exceeded the limit by even one nanosecond of a mile, bamm, you get a ticket.  Some times the ticket isn’t too costly, sometimes it bowls you over, as in… you just can’t believe the wreckage of what was formerly known as your living room.  That’s what it’s like caring for  Carl. There is no elbow room, no margin for error. It’s never like, high five that, I’m so lucky Carl didn’t notice that, eat that, get that. If it’s unattended, even for a moment, if the door is left unbolted, even for a blink, if you aren’t 100% present, on top of your game, and situationally aware, you’re Carl Toast: Yep, Carl has eaten whatever it is you formerly held to be most definitely yours. I’m lucky all he got was $40, as I turned back from a discussion with my son in the driveway to behold a bouquet of 20’s stuffed into Carl’s mouth. “Nooooooooo.” I saved the rest, 40 of it will be going to some very pricey goat manure compost.

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