Hi. It’s me again. James. Age three. Full-time snack negotiator, part-time keyboard operator, and the only one apparently taking this household’s finances seriously.

So today I was using Mom’s work keyboard—you know, to send some emails, pay a few bills, maybe finally confront that mysterious thing called “mortgage.” I was deep in fiscal focus when the AC turned on again. It’s already cold. The house feels like Elsa lives here. Meanwhile, every light in the house? On. Even the closet one. Nobody’s in the closet except maybe Pookie, who is clearly not paying rent.

So I started typing—furiously. “Dear Electric Company,” I said. “I regret to inform you that we are now broke, because my family thinks we live at the Ritz Carlton.” I hit send (probably), and then I drafted a spreadsheet. Color-coded. Red for emergency snack funds. Green for toilet paper reserves. Purple for LEGOs, obviously.

Mom came in and said, “James, you can’t bang on my keyboard.” I said, “This isn’t banging. This is budgeting.” Then Dad yelled, “Where’s the remote?” and I said, “Maybe under all the wasted potential of responsible living.”

Now everyone’s mad at me. They said I messed up Mom’s work stuff and “accidentally ordered 300 printer cartridges.” But I ask you:

AITA for taking financial responsibility while the rest of my household lives like it’s a carnival cruise?

Please respond soon. The light bill is due, and my imaginary assistant isn’t getting paid.