My son, my retirement plan

Living in a condominium isn’t a bed of roses. The first month has just passed, and already I’m tabulating misadventures. The washing machine malfunctioned at night the other day. The family laundry was still trapped inside like poor insects inside a carnivorous pitcher plant. I had to call the plumber to come the next day to fix it. Turned out the drain pump was spoilt. $170 flew out of my wallet to rectify this issue.

Apparently, my landlord went radio silence on the housing agent.

“Aren’t you gonna pursue it?” My wife asked.

“No,” I paused for nary a second before stating what was on my mind. “I feel that I have already spent so much money on this renovation thingy that a couple of hundred dollars means nothing to me.”

“Don’t say that!” was her swift rejoinder.

“Anyway I got no headspace to think about this $170,” I spoke up, gathering courage like an avalanche of snow. “So many of his toys are at my school.”

“You mean you took his toys to your school?” my wife’s tone turned into one of amazement.

Like duh. The condominium’s so small. Where got space to put all his toys.

“Yes,” I woefully elaborated, “Now, I got to bring them to my dad’s place.”

“Quick, son. Say otsukaresama to your father for mamoru your toys,” my wife instructed my kid.

My kid went quiet. Only this time, it wasn’t the calm before the storm. He was just stoic. He went to his wallet and took out some notes. He then squatted on the floor, as if hesitant to make his move.

I acknowledged him, and he scurried over. He handed me $20 bucks. Oh, he wanted to pay me for the trouble of keeping his toys safe and sound! That is nice!

Let’s hope he grows up and remains generous with his money. I can surely use him as my retirement plan!

Otsukaresama - thank you for your hard work Mamoru - to protect