Twenty-five cents per cup.
Girls were selling lemonade on a front lawn. I wasn't thirsty but wanted to give them business. I pulled over my car.
Two cups were ordered, for myself and a companion. The girls passed the drinks through a window. I handed them a one dollar bill.
"Do you want change?" a girl asked me.
The question threw me for a loop. It suggested that my accepting change was irregular. Worse, it implied that accepting change was miserly--the denial of a tip.
Beforehand, I had considered paying them one dollar and not requesting change. Now, as the target of guilt trip, I wasn't sure what to do.
Lemonade stands are a tradition of summer. When I was a boy, the first dime I earned came from selling lemonade. I didn't ask customers if they wanted change. Doing so was presumptuous.
I informed the girls that I wanted my change. They gave me fifty cents. I handed them back twenty-five cents, an accommodation between generosity and umbrage.
The lemonade tasted sweet with a touch of bitterness.
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