Showing posts with label coin purses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coin purses. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

The Coin Purse

There are some things that really mark the beginning of the slide down the cliff of aging: complaining about music being too loud, punctuating movements such as lifting or rising from a squat with groans and grunts, and the use of the coin purse.

You’ve seen the coin purse before, it’s ridiculously small, made in a strange shape, and an older person at the grocery store in front of you is usually using it…when you’re in a hurry.

The coin purse is not an accessory that is made for expedience; coins are thrown into it and land in such a way that getting the exact coin you need at the time you need it is impossible. The only difference between the use of the coin purse and carrying coins in a plastic sandwich bag is the coin purse is sturdier. I am actually surprised these things are still being manufactured because carrying cash and change is so last year.

I will tell you that I have never purchased a coin purse, my good friend Tricia gave it to me. Tricia gave me a set of purses 15 years ago, there were four of them, the two largest were perfect for travel size makeup bags, the next size was an odd size; too small for makeup but too large for anything else, and the last one was…a coin purse.

I disdained the coin purse in fact, on several occasions, I very nearly threw it away but something stopped me every time. The coin purse appeared many times over the years, always in strange locations like bathroom drawers or shoeboxes in a closet; it was as if it was mocking me saying: “silly young woman you will, one day, bow to me.” “Resistance is futile!”

Okay, I may have gotten carried away with the Star Trek reference, but you get my meaning don’t you?

One day I was very frustrated about all the change swimming at the bottom of my purse; the wallet I was using didn’t have an area for coins. I was faced with the quandary of what to do about my dilemma when my mind offered up the siren song: “you could use the change purse Tricia gave you”. I pondered the suggestion and I knew right where the coin purse was located, under the bathroom sink; this time when I thought of using it, it didn’t seem so bad. ZAP! Just like that, I was absorbed into the old folk collective of coin purse users.

Resistance really was futile, when it comes to the disdain of coin purses; I’m not that girl anymore.