Billfold...in old school terms
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I don't really care if I leave here knowing how to do the Salsa, the Tango or the Meregue. I live around the corner from a dance studio in Phoenix. Going to the dance classes is something to do though. I decided that she knew something interesting to do and I would go.
We caught a taxi. While she hawked the meter and clung tightly to the seatbelt, I stuck my head out of the window. I let the breeze hit my face. I watched the sights wiz by. Of course the driver drove ridiculously. That is part of the culture
Commercial break. After my ordeal yesterday I decided to ask someone about the money. I laid all my coins on the table and had my teacher explain to me what they were. So the 5 and 10 come in different sizes and colors and materials, but they are the same. As long as the number says 5 or 10 or whatever, that is what they are. I mean how am I supposed to know that? Well after I felt confident in knowing what things cost, I put enough in my pocket for the bus and lunch. I felt more confident. I was ready to pay the taxi when we got to the destination and knowing that was refreshing. End commercial break .
The taxi arrived at our destination and “Diane” said that she would pay. Fine with me…what happened next was jarring.
“Diane” took out her wallet.
Not a change purse
Not a checkbook.
A billfold...in old school terms.
Like a man.
Like my dad.
Like my husband.
Like many men I know.
What am I supposed to do with that “Diane?”
I will say that her wallet was jam packed with Colones (that’s the local currency) though and she was taking it out to pay…I guess I can’t be too upset.
Perhaps I will just do what I do when the men I know take out their wallets…sit there and look sweet.