Sunday, December 12, 2010

A Story pt.1

This story begins with a wallet.

Well three actually- let me break it down:

Wallet Number 1 is a fancy little number given to me from my uncle as a High School graduation gift. Considering that I was still using my childhood Fraggle Rock wallet (under the guise of 'kitch'), this tiny Coach card holder was the classy upgrade my newly minted 18 year old self needed.

Wallet Number 2 was an upgrade after number 1 failed to truly showcase my 'personality' after functioning as my money holder for say... 8 years. Wallet Number 1 was still in perfect shape (guess the high price of Coach, really is worth something...), but I decided to put it to pasture in my desk drawer holding expired licences, out of state library cards, and other knickerbockers to satisfy my minor hoarding tendencies. What made wallet number 2 so sexy, so individual, so... me? Patchwork Owls with google eyes.

Wallet Number 3 appeared when, Wallet Number 2 deflated like the bimbo show wife it was always. After 6 months of use, the damn thing lost it's google eyes. I told myself that the eyeless (soulless) owls were still cute. The threading started to loosen (now it looks vintage!), and finally it started to shed. Yes, I had a shedding wallet. Rich people probably don't know this, but faux leather peels after a hard beating of use. What makes it extra frightening is the fact that it replicates peeling sun burned skin. Since I am an animal rights activist and cheap ass I currently have several peeling purses, jackets, and shoes. I once happened to wear all three and couldn't help feeling like some serial killer in someone elses skin, as it all hung loosely and flopped about on my appendages. So I bought another wallet, it was cute, but couldn't hold on to anything. Like an idiot third trophy wife, my wallet was scattered. I would constantly find money, cards, and IDs floating around in my flaky peeling purse. Feeling more hobo than I had ever felt before...

I welcomed back my old friend Wallet Number 1.

Two days later, I got drunk and lost it on the street, in San Francisco, Mission Street District.

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