Fifty bucks: Molly's picked up a chunk of change along with her dog-sitting duties … but can she hold onto it long enough to make a connection?

Girls' Life, April-May, 2004 by S.K. Dunn

Who'd have thought dog poop could change a person's life? Happened to me, if you can believe it. It all started with my BFF Lily's dog Minnie, a pug with a little black nose and corkscrew tail. Lily had asked me to dog-sit while she went away to her swimming quarterfinals (she's butterfly, not that you asked).

So there I was at 7:30 in the morning, at the little park on our street, trying to do my doggy-sitting duty (which was waiting for Min-Min to do her, uh ... doody.) Lily had reminded me at least a zillion times before she left that I had to pick "it" up after Min-Min goes. This, I was not looking forward to.

Finally, under a bush near the end of the path--she dropped one. I heaved a sigh, got on my knees, held my breath and groped Min-Min's business with my plastic-covered hand. And then, right there on the ground, I saw it.

A $50 bill.

That night, my grandmother came over for dinner. She is more of a diamonds-and-pearls type of grandmother than the milk-and-cookies variety. That's why we always have to sit in the dining room when she has dinner with us.

Just as my dad was passing me the mashed potatoes, I dropped file news of my good fortune. "I found a $50 bill today," I said, trying to be nonchalant.

"Molly, that's a lot of money for someone to lose," my mom said uneasily. "Not enough to report, but enough to make someone's day unpleasant."

"It's not that much," I said, probably only half-convincingly. I turned to my grandmother, figuring she would get where I was coming from--especially since she wears, like, Manolo Blahniks. "After "all, you can't even buy a decent pair of shoes for 50 bucks!"

But instead of backing me up, my grandmother, Mrs. Civilized-People-Do-Not-Eat-At-Olive-Garden, placed both her palms flat on the table. "Young lady," she huffed, looking at me sternly, "it continues to fascinate me that you seem to know myriad ways to spend 50 dollars but only have a limited understanding of how one might go about earning the same."

I swallowed. I knew she was referring to how I'd torn through the $50 bill she gave me for my 13th birthday. Lily and I blew it at the mall--I managed to stretch it through the food court; a couple long, bendy pencils; and a portrait of us dressed in old-timey clothes. I don't have a clue where that photo is now.

"Think about how you'd feel if you lost that kind of money," my dad piped in, with that serious, stone-faced look he always does. "Just figure how long it would take you to save up that much."

I gave that some serious thought. I tried to figure out how long it would take me to save 50 bucks from my $10-a-week allowance--minus, of course, the smoothies, new lip gloss, CDs ... Really, it was more math than I could calculate without a pen and paper handy.

Ever since we started junior high, Lily and I had gotten into a routine of going to the bakery after school (it was only a minor detour on the way home). It was a warm May day, so we were sitting at a bistro table outside, having biscotti and chai. When Austin Healy, our class's major hottie, skated up, Lily and I were the only two on the patio.

We all went to grade school together, but he either didn't recognize us or had decided we weren't cool enough for him to acknowledge our presence. So I decided not to acknowledge his.

Austin pulled out his cell to make a call. I turned to Lily. "How cool is that about the $50?"

"Very," she said, pushing her sunglasses onto her forehead to look at me. "You should save it. Save it up."

Lily has savings savvy. She actually socked away enough to get herself an iPod. She planned the purchase out carefully, budgeting and disciplining every cent she spent. I, on the other hand, am more of an impulse buyer.

Whenever I've wanted something way expensive, I usually just asked my parents for it for a holiday or birthday. "I wouldn't even know what to save for," I said to Lily as I stirred my chai.

"Oh, c'mon, Molly. Let's think of something--a savings incentive."

We were sipping our tea and giving this some thought, when the silence was interrupted by that cucaracha song: "Da-da-da-DUH-da, da-da-da-DUH-da, da-da-da-da da-DUH!"

We looked toward the gate, where the sound was coming from. It was Austin's cell. I wondered who he was talking to, as he leaned against the gate. Weird but I was almost (OK, totally) jealous. He'd never be able to dial me up, I thought, even if be wanted to. That's because my folks refused to get me a cell.

Wait--that was it!

"Lily," I almost yelled. "A cell!"

Now, my parents are kind of strange about the cell phone issue. They think they're way too expensive and la-di-da for a kid to have. My mom has one for business, but that's it. Back when I first asked for one, my dad got me one of those prepaid phones for me to have just for emergencies, but I used up the minutes in like a day talking to Lily. My dad got sooo mad when we broke down in his car and he asked to borrow it for a call ... and discovered it had no minutes. My stint as a cell-phone user was over after that unfortunate incident.