Hey Y'all, Excited About Trump's $5,000 Voter Appreciation Program?

Well, I sure was.

When I first heard every hardworking American might be getting a $5,000 check after the election, I got so excited I nearly had a medical event. Not a serious one. More of a senior citizen victory lap.

Naturally, since my wife and I are both eligible recipients of this economic miracle, that means we'd be looking at a cool ten grand.

Ten thousand dollars.

To put that in perspective, that's approximately what my wife says I spend annually on things I don't need and can't find three days later.

Being the loving, generous, and financially authoritarian woman she is, she immediately announced that when our $10,000 arrives, she's going to divide it fairly.

She gets $9,900.

I get $100.

And with my $100, I am free to purchase absolutely anything I want... provided it's her Christmas present.

Marriage truly is a beautiful institution.

Then along came my 10-year-old great-granddaughter Maria and completely wrecked my financial future with one question.

"Gramps," she asked, "if it's really a gift, why do you have to wait until after the election to get it?"

You could have heard a pin drop.

Actually, you could have heard my retirement dreams exploding.

"Hmmm," I said. "That's a very good question."

Then I explained that the money only shows up if certain people win the election.

Maria stared at me for a few seconds the way normal people look at someone trying to microwave a hammer.

Then she said:

"That doesn't sound like a gift."

Out of the mouths of babes.

She then proceeded to deliver an analysis worthy of Wall Street.

Would Caesar's Palace let you place a $5,000 bet on the Dodgers after they'd already won the World Series?

Would Churchill Downs accept your $10,000 wager after the horse crossed the finish line?

Would MGM pay out a 27-to-1 ticket on Buster Douglas knocking out Mike Tyson if you bought the ticket after Tyson was already lying on the canvas wondering what day it was?

Of course not.

And if you tried it, they'd probably escort you to the parking lot with two security guards named Bruno and Lefty.

That's when reality hit me.

This promised $5,000 gift was starting to sound about as reliable as:

A guarantee from a used car salesman.

A weather forecast from a groundhog.

A New Year's resolution at Planet Fitness.

Or the Detroit Lions promising me a Super Bowl appearance before my obituary appears in the local paper.

In short, I probably shouldn't start shopping for a bass boat, a motorhome, or that life-sized bronze statue of myself I've always deserved.

Now I face the unpleasant task of explaining all this to my wife.

Unfortunately, she has already mentally spent her share of the money.

Several times.

So, before I break the devastating news that our $10,000 windfall may have been nothing more than campaign-season pixie dust, I believe I'll sit quietly in my recliner and consume three or four cans of "Purple Monkey Dishwasher" IPA from Evil Genius Brewing.

Maybe five.

By beer number four, the $10,000 will seem real again.

By beer number five, I'll probably convince myself the Detroit Lions are winning the Super Bowl too.

And honestly, one of those fantasies is about as believable as the other.