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By Jerry Zezima

I have driven enough lemons to know that they can sour your bank account, but I recently discovered that lemonade, if sold in front of your house by a pair of irresistibly cute kids, can be a liquid asset.

It’s why I am convinced that my granddaughters Chloe and Lilly, who ran the aforementioned enterprise and earned a huge profit, could be CEOs (child economic officers) for a major corporation.

Such was not the case last year when the girls set up a lemonade stand in front of their house. It did not go well. In six hours, Chloe and Lilly made a grand total of $6.25.

I blamed the disappointing earnings on three factors: (a) light traffic, (b) a swarm of bees and (c) me.

I tried to help, but my stupid jokes (“It’s a wasp neighborhood,” “Don’t worry, this isn’t a sting operation” and, worst of all, “Buzz off, bees!”) no doubt scared away potential customers.

This time, I knew, things would be better.

Fortunately, there were no bees. Also, we set up the stand in front of my house. It’s on a busier street, so the foot and vehicular traffic would be greater. Finally, I promised to curtail the dumb remarks, at least until lemonade purchases had been made.

Chloe and Lilly sat on folding chairs behind a small, colorfully decorated table on which were cups, straws and two pitchers of lemonade — one classic, the other pink. Price: a buck a cup.

“You girls are going to make a lot of money today,” I predicted.

“Maybe we’ll be rich!” Lilly said.

Chloe, who held the change purse, nodded in agreement. So did Guillaume, their daddy, who lent a helping hand.

Almost immediately, a car slowed down. The driver rolled down his window, out of which a dog stuck its head, and said, “All I have is a card.”

“Does your dog have any money?” I asked.

“No, sorry,” the guy said weakly before driving off.

“He doesn’t even have a dollar?” Chloe said incredulously.

“How could he afford a car?” Lilly wondered.

But business picked up a couple of minutes later when a nice woman named Nancy stopped and said, “I just have a 20-dollar bill. How much is the lemonade?”

“Usually it’s 20 dollars a cup, but there’s a sale today,” I said. “It’s only a dollar.”

Chloe (with Guillaume’s assistance) poured their first customer a cup of classic lemonade and Lilly gave her a straw. Nancy handed over the 20, took a 10 and said to the girls, “Keep the change.”

“Thank you!” Chloe and Lilly exclaimed.

My next-door neighbor Bob came out and bought a cup of pink lemonade.

“This is great!” he said after paying the girls and taking a sip. “You’re doing a terrific job. In fact, you could teach your grandfather a thing or two.”

A moment later, a woman stopped her car, got out and handed the girls two dollars.

“Would you like any lemonade?” Chloe asked.

“No, thank you. The money is for you,” the woman said before driving off.

Not long afterward, Jocelyn and Kay, two young women who just moved in down the street, drove past, went to the store to break a large bill and came back.

“I’ll have pink, please,” said Jocelyn, the driver.

“And I’ll have classic,” said Kay, who sat in the front passenger seat.

“You’re doing a good business,” Jocelyn told the girls.

“And your lemonade is delicious,” Kay added.

Jocelyn handed over a five and said, “Keep the change.”

“Thank you!” Chloe and Lilly chirped.

The coffers filled up even more when Ashley and Josh, a friendly couple who live in the neighborhood, stopped their car.

“I haven’t seen a lemonade stand in ages,” said Ashley, who ordered a classic.

“What a treat!” said Josh, who had pink.

When Lilly started sipping a cup of pink, too, I said, “She’s sampling the product.”

“It’s quality control,” said Ashley, who paid for the lemonade and left a nice tip.

Shortly after she and Josh drove off, the girls lost interest and went back inside.

They had been out for only 45 minutes but made $45.

“That’s a dollar a minute,” I said.

“We’re in the wrong business,” Guillaume noted.

“Chloe and Lilly aren’t,” I said. “Now all they have to do is set up their lemonade stand on Wall Street.”

— Jerry Zezima

Jerry Zezima writes a humor column for Tribune News Service, which distributes it to newspapers nationwide and abroad. He is also the author of six books, Leave It to Boomer, The Empty Nest Chronicles, Grandfather Knows Best, Nini and Poppie’s Excellent Adventures, Every Day Is Saturday and One for the Ageless, all of which are “crimes against literature.” He has won seven awards from the National Society of Newspaper Columnists for his humorous writing.