C’mon, who didn’t love the title to this post? I’m a guy. I carry all my important stuff in a wallet. My post last week dealt with the fact that my willingness to buy a box of wine may indicate that it’s marginally possible that I might not be as young and hip as I used to be. My wallet is also starting to tell me that I’m getting older. You know how you can tell the age of a tree by drilling a hole and counting the rings? You can do the same thing with a man’s wallet. In fact the older a man is, the less likely it is that he’ll notice you drilling a hole in his enormous wallet as it sticks out of his ass like a big, square tumor. We’ve all seen the men who carry their gargantuan wallets in their back pocket. It looks like they’ve got a car battery in their pants. It’s a built in booster seat. I imagine that these guys must look like they’re 7 feet tall when they’re sitting down. My problem is that I’m starting to accumulate “stuff” in my wallet. I could just stick to the AAA card, the blood donor card and my driver’s license if I really wanted to streamline things, but then I’d have to leave behind my coffee club card, my haircut card (I’m almost at 10 so I get a free one!), my movie rental card, my insurance card, and the receipt for every banking transaction I’ve made in the past year. That stuff is important. What if I’m busy having a cup of coffee while getting my hair cut and I decide I want to rent a movie on my way home? I’d have to check my banking receipts to make sure I had enough money left to rent a movie! The other option is to start carrying luggage everywhere like all the women I work with. We walk out of the office at night and they’ve got a purse, an insulated lunch bag, their water bottle, and some other random bag. I don’t carry that much stuff if I’m going on vacation. If I do carry that much stuff, I put it all in my wallet. If I’m wearing coat that’s a lot, and I only wear a coat if I need something to carry my ever burgeoning wallet in. There is no way I’m wearing my wallet in my back pocket and ruining the look of my firmly rounded buttocks. I worked too damn hard on the stairmaster to hide those bad boys. (Honestly, who did a spit take when they read those last two lines?)