Natty just came into my room to ask if I could give her any receipts, because she is working a lot of jobs and needs receipts to show where she paid money (When I was small we used to play house. And we were ALWAYS indigent [especially during the Clinton campaign when I listened to Rush Limbaugh a lot and was convinced that the end of the world was imminent]; looks like the tenor of the family may have changed a bit . . . that, or there's still only one tenor in the family . . .).
She found one receipt and was scavenging for more when I said,
Me: I know I'm looking for something, but I can't remember what it is.
Natty: A job?