Billfold...in old school terms

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In The Taxi

Flag of Costa Rica  , San José,
Thursday, September 3, 2009

So I know I swore off hanging with "Diane" But she is the only other person here who I know, that speaks English. I wanted company today and so when “Diane” asked me if I was interested in going to the dance school and signing up for classes, I agreed.

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. Honking at stop signs but continuing through them, taking corners sharply, backing up in the middle of the street…all normal and exciting. The cab driver was nice, he explained things and I asked. He spoke slowly enough that I understood. It was fine.

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 wallet.

A billfold...in old school terms.

Like a man.

A wallet.

Like my dad.

A wallet.

Like my husband.

A wallet.

Like many men I know.

A wallet.

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.
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Comments

sakeeta
sakeeta on

So a wallet....
That had me laughing. Diane kills thangs. Her name should be Pat.

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