The Bad Old Days of Paying Bills

My father was a happy person. But on the first or last Saturday of the month, every month, he was miserable. He would wake in a grumpy mood, say nothing at breakfast, listen to no one around him, and at 10am, would slump into the small wood paneled room he called his office. He would gather piles of mail around him, dig through to find his books, heave a big sigh and get to work. It was time to “pay bills.”