Fine. You want to audit me? Let's audit.
"Go ahead! Look all you want! Not just last year—this year, the year before, I'll give you everything. And starting today, I'm done managing this household's finances. Whoever wants the job can have it!"
Lola snatched my phone in one grab and plopped down on the couch. She licked her index finger, then jabbed at the screen.
"Oh! Cherries? $299 a box? Is this thing made of gold? You eat it and live forever?"
"Starbucks? Twenty-eight dollars for bitter water? Does Alex print money? You're sitting at home doing nothing and drinking coffee this expensive—you're drinking my son's blood!"
"And what's this? Yoga classes? Two thousand dollars? You learning poses or learning to burn cash? Mop the floor—you'll lose the weight anyway!"
Every line, she lifted her head to glare at me, spit flying. Alex nodded along beside her like a bobblehead. "Yes, yes, Mom's right. The yoga class really isn't necessary. We won't sign up again."
Lola slapped the phone onto the coffee table and announced: