20-Something White Trash

Even with all the problems that go with being sixty, so happy today to be well clear of that 20-something, white trash stage of life where the ATM won't accept your check and after repeated failed attempts to deposit, you resort to yelling at your slacker boyfriend who's sitting in the car, about his money always being so wrinkled up. They're probably still driving around town searching for someplace that will cash that crumpled check. A bunch of agony that I think I've finally earned the right to avoid.