By: Ann Brown
Right at this very moment, even as you are reading this, the penny is losing value. It has lost almost 97% of its value so far. That’s what they said on NPR. It is shocking, right? I cannot believe it.
I also cannot really understand what it means since a person needs math for this issue. And not only am I woefully clueless about math, I am quite against it. So I must weigh in as against this devaluation business. Even if it occurs during a Democratic administration, I am against it. And I make it a point to never be against anything in a Democratic administration.
I had decided to keep my disapproval to myself. You know, because it’s an election year and the world is watching me. But now, economists and NPR commentators feel that because of the devaluation, we should stop making pennies.
And this is where I have to get involved.
Are we going to discard everything that has lost its value? Because I have a bad feeling about that. Frankly, I worry that after they’ve wiped out the pennies, they will be coming after me. Because, well, talk about your rapid devaluation.
Time was when I could get, I bet, five hundred dollars for me. At least. But just like the penny, in the past decades I have been passed around, lost in couch cushions, discarded into Ronald McDonald House coin boxes at the drive-through window, used to steady an uneven card table and given to homeless people on freeway exits. Who snort derisively because they know worthless when they see it.
The irony is this: the less value I offer, the more money it takes to keep me going. For fuck’s sake, my bras alone cost over $200.00 a year. And even that’s only if I remember to not put them into the dryer. There was a time when I could fashion a workable brassiere for myself out of two handkerchiefs and a sprig of dried rosemary. I was not a drain on the economy back then.
And there’s the matter of my shoes.
In my youth, shoes were optional. At best, they were a five dollar pair of Chinese embroidered slippers. These days it takes the Army Corps of Engineers working with Dansko and Mephisto to figure out how to not make my feet hurt in shoes.
I need about three hundred dollars a month to keep me in Xanax and Zantac. Which I often get mixed up, resulting in a calm stomach during anxiety attacks and falling into a stoned stupor after I eat Indian food. Which reminds me, I should get some more reading glasses.
Oh, and let’s not forget the plethora of root canals ahead of me. It takes a whole lotta cheddar to keep up with my devaluation.
Well, cheddar and Kegels. Although lately, I have not been keeping up with the K’s. I figure when my bladder gives way to complete incontinence, I will simply stop laughing so hard and that will keep my underpants dry.
I know. No chance I will stop laughing. Not as long as Ann Romney keeps calling herself a typical working mother.
Despite my devaluation, and in defense of my economic worth, however, I want to offer this: soon I will be pretty much single-handedly keeping Depends in business.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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