Shot Through the Wallet

When I was a kid, my sister and I used to go to a summer day camp. Sometimes we went on field trips to cool local places like Water Mania, Discovery Island, or the bowling alley.

Being the older, mature sister, my mom gave me the money to handle. This was so my younger, immature sister wouldn't blow it all on something stupid (like when we went to Old Town, and she used up all her soda pop money on the arcade, and our teacher bought her a soda because she was a cute little first grader with no money management skills). 

One time we went to Cypress Gardens. Halfway through the day we ended up in a gift shop. My little third-grade eyes were alive with wonder at all the garden-themed goodies. I soon found the spinning kiosk of shot glasses, where I saw one with "Deborah" written on it. I NEVER saw products with "Deborah" written on them. I had only ever seen "Debbie" or "Debra." So, of course, assuming I would never again see a product with my spelling of my name on it, I HAD to have it. 

I presented the shot glass and all our day's money (for sodas or ice cream) to the cashier, who told me, "You're ten cents short." Sensing my embarrassment, the cashier pulled a dime out of her pocket and gave me the shot glass. 

Later on, all the other kids bought ice cream, and my sister wanted some too. We couldn't get any, because I bought a shot glass with my name on it. 

The end.