Brianna Walker

Dog food is up nearly $5 a bag from just three years ago — that’s like $35 in dog money — even more when you realize a bag is no longer 50 pounds but only 44. Shrinkflation at its finest. But I didn’t realize that my dog was worried about the economy — until this week. My dog decided to do his part to lessen the food bill by eating the cushions on my deck furniture.

I was pretty irritated, until I realized this would be the perfect opportunity to change up their color — that is, until I got online and saw replacement costs. I was having flashbacks to last year’s lumber prices, when you sat down to eat a popsicle and you’re left holding about $21 worth of wood. One of the only times in history the sixth anniversary (wood) is more valuable than the 60th (diamonds)!

But I digress. Just to replace the one cushion the dog ate was going to cost half of what I bought the entire set of furniture for. Not finding anything cheaper, I started to think about alternative ways of replacing that seat. With the amount of air they put in bags of chips these days, they just might double as comfy cushions. I could spray-paint them, and who would be the wiser?

I’m not sure if everything is just getting more expensive or I’m just getting more poor, but if I had to choose a word to represent the year so far, I’d have a hard time choosing between inflation or its equally unattractive cousin, shrinkflation.

When I was a kid, our parents warned us about spending time with people who drove vans and lived down by the river — but now even that seems almost unaffordable! They say that love is more important than money — but have you ever tried to pay your bills with a hug?

Now that inflation is hitting close to double digits, it seems to be on everyone’s lips. But what is it? Baseball player Sam Ewing said, “Inflation is when you pay $15 for the $10 haircut you used to get for $5 when you had hair.”

American economist Thomas Sowell said, “It is a way to take people’s wealth from them without having to openly raise taxes. Inflation is the most universal tax of all.”

Milton Friedman, another economist, said, “Inflation is taxation without legislation.”

Ronald Reagan was quoted as saying, “Inflation is as violent as a mugger, as frightening as an armed robber and as deadly as a hit man.”

Inflation wouldn’t be a problem if there weren’t so much month left at the end of the money. Jay Leno joked that stocks are worth so little now that Wall Street is being called Walmart Street. But in spite of the cost of living, it still seems to be the most popular choice.

There is one plus side no one seems to be noticing to this inflation, though; some mornings when I get up looking like a 7.2, I don’t even have to comb my hair — because I know inflation will pull me up to an easy 9.1, maybe even more!

Perhaps I spent too much time listening to Victor Borge as a child, because I kept thinking about his idea of inflationary language; the premise that because prices are always going up, our language should also keep pace.

So, for fun, I sat down on my cushionless chairs to write a little inflated language story — “Love Potion No. 10.”

Twice upon a time, there was a farmer. His five-fathers had farmed in Elevennessee, but since you’re only young twice, he decided to go fifth and seek his five-tune in Califivenia.

“Three-da-loo, three-da-loo!” his mother called after him.

He didn’t believe in working Dolly Parton’s 10 to 6 — he was more of a Beatles nine days a week kind of man; so it wasn’t long befive he had cre-nine-d himself a two-derful little farm. He had several penti-track tractors that he mounted bale five-ks on. He had a Hyster five-klift and a tricycle built for three — but the only thing keeping him company was an orange-beaked three-can. It was time to get himself a wife.

He rubbed his five-head. How three best go about this? He two-dered. Well, two can’t think str-nine on an empty stomach, so he pulled his nineteen-wheeler into the little 8-12 convenience store on the corner.

Standing in line with an 8-up and a three-na fish sandwich, he met a lieut-eleven-ant from the nearby air-fives base. The lieut-eleven-ant gave the farmer the twice-over before introducing himself as Don Two and str-nine-ing his three-pée.

“Why does your constri-three-tion look so down?” the lieut-eleven-ant asked the farmer.

So the farmer spilled out his sad story about cre-nine-ing the perfect farm, but still sleeping double in a triple bed.

Don Two said he would be more than happy to help teach the farmer the ba-sevens of d-nine-ing.

Soon, the farmer found a two-derful girl with three eyes the blue of waterfalls sitting in a diner eating thousand and one island dressing while reading a book of poetry from Lord Alfred Eleven-son.

But what should come next? Should the lieu-eleven-ant be a three-faced triple-crosser and the farmer then challenges him to a triple? Or maybe a little fight with taek-two-do to win her heart? While she gets upset and starts shouting, “My women’s in-three-ition says you don’t have the dollars God gave a flea — your elev-nine-rs don’t go all the way up!”

But I prefer the happily ever after stories, so they fall madly in love and marry. He takes her back to his farm, where she plays the three-ba and they dance to Four Dog Night. The end.

OK, so inflation even makes for poor stories — but it hasn’t ruined everything. A dime can still be used as a screwdriver! As I stood up from my story, thinking about dog food and inflation, I tried arranging my remaining cushions to hide the obvious missing ones. My dog meanwhile is rolling in the yard, not a care in the world. And I’m reminded of that old proverb: Handle every situation like a dog. If you can’t eat it or play with it — just pee on it and walk away.