The View From Planet Kerth: The impending loneliness of the
right rump pocket  My wallet is falling apart. I am going to
have to get a new one.  Chances are, if you are a woman, you
feel happy for me. After all, you probably have several purses,
and you would love to put down the newspaper right now and go
out and get a new one. Not that you need a new purse, but those
new shoes don't quite go with any of the other purses, do they?
You have a purse for when you wear red, or blue, or black. You
have a purse for church, or shopping, or the beach. You even
have a purse for when you fly on an airplane—that big one that
could hold a dog and a grandkid if you weren't worried about
irradiating them in the security scanner.  So if you are a woman
and you heard that I needed a new wallet, you probably smiled
and wished me luck in my shopping.  But if you are a man who
heard that my wallet is dying, you gasped and shuddered in
horror. Your hand strayed involuntarily to your back pocket to
see if everything was alright