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Everybody and everything collects something or other.
A reporter collects information.
A detective collects evidence.
A bank collects interest.
A lab collects samples.
A landlord collects rent.
A fan collects memorabilia.
My furniture collects dust.
And Better Half collects quarters.
Sometimes he looks at me with that look.
"Got anything for me?" he'll wonder aloud, glancing at my purse, which is more like a pack to throw on a donkey or a giant suit case to wheel on the way to catch a flight.
I know what he wants.
"I don't think I have any quarters in there, but let me check," I say, always trying to end on a note of hope and encouragement.
I ask him to hand me my purse.
Like most men, though, he is reluctant when it comes to making contact with a woman's handbag. Men are frightened of these carriers of cosmetics and such. He keeps the purse at arm's length and directs it toward me, as if it's dangerous and about to detonate.
The mission is successful. The pass is complete. No injuries.
I give my purse a shake as if I were a mixologist or someone trying to figure out the contents of a package before the gift wrap is ripped away.
And I hear something rattling around in there, but I can't be sure if it's a George Washington knocking heads with another George Washington or two or three.
Probably not. Maybe some pennies. Possibly a dime or two on what would be a high-finance day for me.
I dig around a bit to show I'm making an effort to find a fourth of a dollar for my sweetums. Maybe more.
Better Half is much better than I am at saving quarters specifically and money in general.
All my pockets have potential burnt holes. You know that old saying, right? Don't let money burn a hole in your pocket. Who would want to? And why run the risk?
Be gone with those funds!
Anyway, Better Half accumulates quarters with ease, stacking them in piles of four until he collects $10 worth here, another $10 worth there and so on and so on.
Then he has a wrap party.
He sits at the kitchen table and puts the piles in $10 coin wraps. He ultimately lines them all up in his secret hiding place, which isn't very secret because I know where it is.
Just as he asks me if I have any quarters, he asks, too, if I've taken any quarters.
Sometimes I need them for the car wash, you see, and in my own defense, I usually leave an I.O.U. note.
I'll sign it "Guess Who" with a smilely face or the "Quarter Bandit Strikes Again!" or "Thanks for the Coins, Your Friend Janice."
He's collecting quite a few of these.
(Kiaski, a resident of Richmond, is a staff columnist and community editor for the Herald-Star and The Weirton Daily Times. She can be contacted atjkiaski@heraldstaronline.com.)