Hair Pins/Thoroughly Modern Millie

My dentist, a lovely man, seemed charmed months ago when I answered that the chip in my front tooth is from a hair pin. He smiled and mentioned that they don't get many of those "these days." Vacuuming last week, when I had to take my vaccuum apart because it would not suck, I found six hairpins stuck length-wise, which were blocking muck from entering the vaccuum's sacred chambers. I step on hairpins, find them in the laundry, rusted in the tub, keep them in my wallet, use them as bookmarks. They live in dusty corners in my house, and I have used one to unlock a closed door more than once.

My old-fashiondy love for hair pins, handkerchiefs, gloves makes me wonder: Certainly other Thoroughly Modern Millies don't have this trouble; finding the evidence of "keep" doubly in vacuums, wallets, enamel. Where else are we to keep, if not between these delicate tines? So much does not hold, gives way. This seems a quiet place to hide, hoard. A spot for holding strands, souls, latches, teeth. Olly-olly oxen free.