Friends were coming for dinner, and my husband decided to be helpful by getting rid of a stack of papers I had out on the kitchen counter. Unbeknown to me, he swooped everything up and stashed it on top of the refrigerator. He thinks that’s a great storage place because no one under six-feet-two can touch anything that’s up there.
So we have a lovely dinner party, and three weeks later I finally get around to standing on a chair to clean on top of the refrigerator. That’s when I discover that my Visa bill has been rotting away unnoticed; and as of that very day, I am 31 days late.
“What’s this?” I shriek, wild-eyed with horror.
For me, the Queen of Credit, to be past the 30-day mark and get a “late ...