More Monies

Two weekends ago, the granddaughter and I took our first road trip together. We traversed the highway to go and visit my dad - Papa as Peanut calls him - forty miles to the west of our fair (to middling) city. We had a wonderful time, yet I forgot to recount that. Forgive my oversight.
Since my mom died, I try to do things to cheer my father. One of those things involves stopping at the gas station on the corner and buying him a HUGE cookie of the oatmeal and raisin variety. As Peanut and I set off, I pulled into the gas station to get him yet another of these gastronomical delights. Not two minutes earlier, I had responded to Peanut's favourite question by handing over some monies (forty-two cents), so she was quite pleased to be going to the store.
We walked inside, and Peanut headed straight for the Wall-O-Candy. "Look what I found Gramma," was her first exclamation.
"No, missy, we are here to get a cookie for Papa, not candy, okay?"
"Oh right. Okay." She was still clutching her monies, however.
We grabbed a drink to share, then made our way over to the coffee and baked goods area. As I reached for the Big Daddy Oatmeal and Raisin cookie, I heard, in the most reverent of voices, the following.
"Oh Gramma, loooooooook what I FOUND!"
Peanut had 'found' a small bag of two-bite brownies. Uhoh.
"Peanut, we are buying a cookie for Papa, remember?"
"But Gramma, I found these!" was the reply in her most awed voice.
"Peanut, I thought we were just going to get a cookie for Papa."
"But Gramma, I have monies," she replied, holding up her coins as proof.
Now I don't know about you, but I don't think there is enough wonder and awe in the world. If four tiny brownies can have that sort of effect, who I am to deny a small child that thrill? I told her she could buy them, but she could not eat them until after lunch. She agreed happily, clutched her brownies in her hands, and we made our way to the cash register.
I am uncertain about the mental state of the fellow in line ahead of us. He was purchasing a stack of lottery tickets, in various combinations and sub-combinations. He had, I am certain, spent many hours devising a plan that was a 'sure fire' way to win the lottery. I tried hard not to roll my eyes, choosing instead to watch Peanut dancing from one foot to the other, singing a song under her breath that I am relatively certain included the words brownie, mine, and monies. Finally the uber-goober in front of us staggered off under the weight of his sure-to-win lotto tickets, and we stepped up to the counter.
Peanut slapped her brownies up on the counter and announced to the clerk, "I have MONIES!"
The clerk looked at her and said, "Are you paying for all of this?" while gesticulating at the drink and cookie I had placed on the counter.
"Yup," replied Peanut, while I shook my head. She slapped her money on the counter, and I added a ten dollar bill. I snuck a small pack of Hot Rods onto the counter as well, since I too had monies. The total was $5.35. I counted out thirty-five cents from Peanut's monies, then took my five dollars and her seven cents back from the clerk. When I tried to give her her seven cents, the nutbar tried to take my change. I corrected her, and gave her the coins.
As she went to stuff the coins in her pocket, having grabbed the bag of brownies off the counter before the clerk could put them in the plastic bag, she dropped a penny and the nickle. I stepped over to the door to get out of the way of the people who had formed a small line while waiting for the rocket scientist with the lottery numbers to complete his ritual.
Peanut was crouched on the floor, carefully picking up her cash as I moved past her. As she saw me moving, she called out in a terribly authoritative voice, "Hey Gramma! Don't leave me! I am picking up my monies!!!" Suddenly I remembered why I do not go to the store with her that often.
As all eyes turned to me, I could feel my face getting warmer. I don't look old enough to be her gramma, and the surprise that registered on the faces of the waiting customers made me uncomfortable. "I'm not leaving, Peanut. I am merely waiting," was my less-than-witty comeback.
Oblivious to everyone else, Peanut finished rescuing her monies, then announced our departure to the store. My granddaughter is a dork. Sadly, I know it is genetic, and I know she gets it from my side of the family.
*L*