willpower.

When I was little people used checks, like, all the time. Or maybe my view of the world was skewed by my fascination with checks. So I'd watch, intently, as my mother filled out a check at the grocery store, as my friend's moms paid their cable bills. When advertisements for check styles would come in the mail, I'd study them closely to pick out which design I would get when I was a grown up, always disappointed that you had to have a checking account to order them. In elementary school, all the 5th graders at Central Park got a pack of fake checks and learned how to write them out and balance checkbooks. We earned "money" by getting good grades, holding the door open, answering questions correctly in music class. We used our "money" by buying tickets to participate in kickball games, raffles, and the like. This was an extremely exciting four weeks for me.

My fascination with that has since died, and since so has the practice of checks, I end up using a whopping total of 12 checks a year. So I've just almost depleted the starter pack Wachovia set me up with in August when I opened my new account, and I thought I'd go ahead and spend the $15 bucks to get some real ones so I can, you know, pay rent. I called the 800 number and Wachovia's automated system sent me to their check supplier, whose representative was a very perky guy named Dan or Brian or something nonthreatening. And he asked if I'd had a chance to look at the catalog, and I stammered something incomprehensible. And he asked if I'd like him to help me pick out something, and I figured I'd let him. First, he suggested something collegiate. I explained that not only were my schools uninteresting and unfamous, but that I didn't have that much school spirit anyway. For a second the thought crossed my mind that it might be amusing just to get some random school's checks (Go Vols!), but quickly realized how annoyed I'd be with myself in a few weeks when the checks arrived.

Listen, there was pressure to choose something cute. Dan or Patrick or whatever his name was wanted me to be happy with my selection. He told me about the "one liner" on his checks that says, "My reality check just bounced." Isn't that a gas! He talked me into the free upgrade of bubbly lettering or whatever, but I turned down the leather case and the address labels. Look, the checks I picked were only $6 more than the base checks, so why not? WHY NOT?!

Um, because they have lady bugs on them.

Under pressure,

I chose checks

With lady bugs.

Bumblebees.

And butter and dragon flies a plenty.

Ten-year-old me would be jumping for joy right now.