Thursday, February 04, 2016

Fiddy busted the slit

At some point theboy gave me a "My DAD ROCKS!" money tin which is about the size of a Campbell's soup can. It can only be opened once as you have to pull a ring like on a coke can.

The tin ended up in the shed, where all his gifts do (1), and eventually I realised there was a bunch of spare change lying about the interior from three years of occasional shed-occuring de-pocketing before riding. 

So in went the spare change to the tin, including a five dollar bill that had lain buried in shed dander for two years under the exercise bike but for some magical thinking reason left in dirty situ thinking that lucky. 

I had to pack up my desk and in doing so all the spare change in the drawers went in my top pocket. I rattled home with sobs to the chink of phat coin. 

I piled the ratted remnants of two years of work-accumulated coin on my study desk then, upon seeing it the next day, realised that all needed to go into the tin.

The coins slipped in smooth, all, save that is, for a fifty cent piece. It got jammed in the slit for a moment before chunking in. The coin had etched furrows either side of the slit from its passage and the next fiddy slipped in smooth.

Yay, my slit gut busted by a fiddy. What a numismatic way to start the day.

(1) When I ride the bike I see all his pressies like cards from celebrations past cards and artwork. I cannot stress how important it is to baste yourself in recognition of love; especially for when the black dog is barking.

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