When my daughter-in-law Lila asked me to babysit my grandson for the weekend, I expected giggles and gratitude—not a bill. She was off to a spa retreat,
and I happily agreed to watch Oliver. But when I arrived, the house was a mess, the fridge was empty, and there were barely any baby supplies.
I cleaned, shopped, cooked, and cared for Oliver all weekend. We baked cookies, went to the park,
and had a wonderful time. I even prepared dinner for Lila’s return.
But on Monday, I found a handwritten invoice: $8 for eggs, $3 for water, $12 for electricity—totaling $40—with a note saying, “Please Venmo by Friday.”
Stunned but composed, I mailed her my own tongue-in-cheek invoice: the cost of raising her husband—$200,000—then
subtracted a family discount, leaving exactly $40. I sent it in a gold-trimmed envelope.
Lucas, my son, called the next day—amused and apologetic. A week later, Lila Venmoed me the $40 with a note: “To settle my debt. Please don’t charge interest.”
I donated it to a children’s hospital in Oliver’s name. Because in the end, love, respect—and a sharp sense of humor—matter more than petty accounting.
