Frank Flâneur leaned on his walking stick just outside the saloon. Some might say he was lollygagging, but to the trained eye he was clearly dilly dallying. The few damp crumpled bills in his vest pocket would not get him through the night so a new enterprise was clearly needed in the quest for the elusive spondulix.
As luck would have it she just happened to be hustling her bustle down the boulevard at this precise moment. Standard Moxie was tightly contained in her serious whalebone corset which caused her bosoms to well up over her marginally proper neckline. Frank was captured by the approaching silhouette, enticed by the sideshow cameo, and ensnared into the jetstream of her bustle as it bounced and bobbled down the planked sidewalk.
Standard’s hourglass figure put many exertions into this confirmed flâneur’s beady brain. Exertions that he hoped would extract enough shekels and sumptuous diversions to pass this day and perhaps trail into a weekend of surreptitious and languid luxuries. Standard Moxie’s brief over the shoulder glance upon her stiff passage was all the encouragement this feral cur required. He twirled his waxed mustache, smoothed his gabardine trousers, checked his reflection in the tavern window, and gave himself a wink.
If I had a nickel for every time I have had to restart a computer, phone, tablet, cable box, router, or modem since the 1980’s I would not have to still be tossing nickels around like they were manhole covers.
Back in the days of irrational exuberance and before all your Spondulix was online and downloadable; Intuit came along with a little ditty called Quicken. Since we were young and the internets were dumb much of the accounts, spending, and bills required data entry rather than syncing with obtuse and arcane file formats from various financial institutions. Cash transactions required a receipt.
But since the household was hemorrhaging money, as all good job creating consumer households should, it was necessary to spend Saturday mornings trying to balance and track what was going where and why. It became clear that the only thing quick about this process was how it quickened the ex out the door weekend mornings due to the inevitable discovery of numerous and unmentioned charges that would miraculously appear on the snail mailed paper statements.
Recriminations and many a ruined weekend followed.
At the time the only thing Quicken quickened was a trip to divorce court and understanding of the quick bunny trail to financial ruin.
Now that everyone across the globe can pick your pocket with nary a reach around or how do you do, Quicken has fulfilled the catchy name’s promise.
But the question still remains. “Do you have a receipt for that?”
Folly is such a fun word. I mean who doesn’t enjoy a spirited game of Folly Ball. Looking forward to having a Folly Folly Christmas this year with Folly Ole St Nick.
St. Nick uses reindeer power as opposed to Fulton’s Folly which ushered in the age of our Fossil Fuel Folly of believing there is an infinite supply of things to burn on our decidedly and well mapped finite planet. What’s done is done but we are only follying ourselves thinking otherwise.
Of course McCain’s Folly (a.k.a. matriarch of the one time first family of Seward’s Folly) does not believe in such things, nor other things from her progeny’s prodigious folly of taking “Cheaper By The Dozen” as a guide to Folly Planning.
So in life one mans folly is another mans floor, and where there is folly there is money to be made. It is no folly to think that someone is making folding folly somewhere off of our Founding Fathers Folly’s and Foibles. The ofttimes suspected , never directly addressed Electoral Folly.
In closing allow me to digress to youthful budding folly becoming full bloom folly. As a young man at the office Folliday Party I learned of a particular moral weakness I have. Blow in my ear and I’ll folly you anywhere. She did, I did, and Holiday Folliness Abounded. Apparently I am not alone in my countrymen and women in my susceptibility to melting into a puddle of folly after getting my ear blown.
So as we Deck the halls with boughs of Folly lets all sing together….