Surely, having returned the pouch to its owner, you will never see this pouch again

This time it’s your son’s Purim pouch. The one with his name on it that he gets from his rebbi for shalach manos and immediately designates as his fundraising attaché.

It gets lost and is found several times over the course of the Purim day, respectively causing bouts of anxiety and shrieks of jubilance. In total, it collects 131 dollars from merciful neighbors and drunk uncles.

The day after Purim, the money your son raised goes to school, but the pouch stays home. It stays on the dining room table, amid semi-dismantled shalach manos packages and costume accessories that need to be returned to helpful aunts.

Before Shabbos, when the dining room table is cleared, the pouch moves to the kitchen counter. It sits there on top of the pile of Purim school sheets and below the pair of plastic sunglasses your toddler brought home from playgroup.

What are you supposed to do with this pouch? With the sunglasses?

You don’t throw them out, because it’s a perfectly good pouch and a perfectly unbroken pair of sunglasses.

You don’t throw them out, but you also don’t put them in the toy closet, which is currently in a rare state of cleanliness and orderliness after being made “Pesachdik.” This pouch doesn’t a have a “spot” on any of the toy closet shelves.

So you do the only logical thing. It’s your son’s pouch: You put it on his bed.

Surely, having returned the pouch to its owner, you will never see this pouch again.