Happy as a Pig in Pennies?

The SO and I had our third anniversary--of us being "us" rather than the formal type of anniversary, that's yet to come.

But an anniversary demands some form of celebration and we were too busy last week, so we took a day or two this weekend to go to a nearby resort town where we sometimes go to escape the city.

Our usual hotel had burnt down the previous night, or rather the building beside it had, and spectacularly. So we went down the beachside strip to another mid-sixties stucco confection where the owner charged us more than I cared to pay, but gave us the best suite in the place. We had a bay window overlooking the bay--a circumstance I have rarely encountered before. In my experience most bay windows overlook suburban flowerbeds.

And what did we do in that sweet, sweet suite? Oh did we debauch!

1) We ate junk food.
2) We watched television!
and
3) We gutted my piggy bank and rolled 18 months' worth of change.

Oh, and we soaked in the local hot pools and some other stuff, but that's the exciting bit, mostly.

Do you know how much change one piggy bank can hold?

In this case, it was rather over five hundred dollars. Thank the gods-that-may-or-may-not-be that I live in a nation that doesn't piddle about with dollar and two-dollar bills anymore. The extra coins go into the PB, and emerge later as a payment on my groaning credit card.

As we left the bank, having just deposited the money, which weighed roughly thirty-five pounds as far as I could tell, I was praying that someone would stop us and say:

"Scuze me? D'you got any change?"

I'd have thoroughly checked my pockets, and turned the newly-empty shopping bag inside out before joyfully and truthfully shouting:

" NO! "