When I was little I had a piggy bank complete with a requisite combination lock (needed to keep my younger brother from pilfering). Each week, on Friday night when I got my 50 cent allowance, I would lock myself in my bedroom, twist and turn the combination until I got it right and then I counted my prized stash of cash. I always knew exactly how much it would amount to, but I counted it nonetheless. My brother, on the other hand, never used his piggy bank; he put his quarters in his pockets and generally lost them within a few days.

Over time, I began to earn more money through babysitting and odd jobs, but the ritual never changed