What's In YOUR Wallet?

The older male, mid-manopause, is coming to grips with his wallet.  He discovers, for example, that he rarely carries cash.  There are reasons for this.  Chief among them:  he has little cash to carry.  Most of his cash, of course, is simply being transferred to a university campus where, subsisting on a meal plan of immense proportions, a son or daughter grazes over a smorgasbord of caviar and smoked salmon while the parents spoon cold pork'n beans out of a Costco can roughly the size of a trash compactor.  This is because the parents buy in bulk to save money, and subsist on crude roughage and lawn clippings so that they can ship even larger sums to the bursar's office.

Eventually one of the parents develops a mild case of scurvy and is forced to eat an orange (which costs money), but the memory still lingers.  Meanwhile, the man's wallet thins, and he discovers that, if he searches beneath the floor mat of the car or lifts a sofa cushion of the basement couch, he may find enough pocket change to purchase a bottle of rock gut wine and thereby ease his suffering.

Meanwhile, back in walletville, the older male discovers that, since he has been using his wallet as a personal filing cabinet for phone numbers, pin numbers, and crib notes, one of his butt cheeks is flatter than the other and he has developed a hitch in his gait.  He considers ridding himself of this leather monster in his hip pocket, but realizes that, the moment he tosses these five-year-old phone numbers and notes, he will need all of it and will have lost out on a million-dollar contact.  And so he adds more.

Eventually his wallet takes on the same shape as his body:  round in the middle and frayed at the edges.  He's lived with his wallet for decades--just like his wife--and has learned to count on it always being there . . . empty . . . when he reaches for it.  He only buys two gallons of gasoline at a time.  He eats more pork'n beans and attempts to disguise his flatulence by dousing himself each morning with his son's quart of Axe.

Naturally, the older male who is paying for a college education gets little nookie.  Women are turned on by money and he only has enough cash to get things started but never enough to finish the job.  He grows cynical and jaded.  Writes love poetry.  And eventually he occupies himself with YouTube reruns of Gomer Pyle.  

When the older male does get cash in his wallet he hangs onto it like his lost virginity.  He dreams of buying the two wieners for a dollar at Speedway and saving the rest to bribe his wife with a single red rose.  He hopes for a kiss if nothing more.  And he prays she doesn't ask him for money.