Years from now, when your grandchildren ask, "How did you commemorate the historical inauguration of Barack Obama?" you'll tousle their hair, look them in the eye, and say, "Why don't you go bother your parents for a while?" Then when the kids are safely out of the room, you'll reach underneath your titanium-plated (everything in the future is titanium-plated) La-Z-Boy recliner and pull out your $1800 "O" clutch. You'll run your weathered hands over the purse, feeling the fabric of hope (aka Ostrich leg), and you'll remember what it was like to be so excited about the Obama inauguration that you bought a stupid expensive handbag just because it had an "O" closure. "God," you'll think, "I was such an idiot." Then you'll gnaw the edge of the purse with your dentures, hoping to taste the earthiness of the ostrich farm, because (surprise surprise) you're still an idiot.