Well, of course, the Queen doesn't carry money in her handbag.
With the exception of Sundays, when she reportedly carries a neatly folded bill for collection during church service, the Royal purse contains a comb, a small gold compact, lipstick and a handkerchief.
Her Majesty would not deign to sully herself with the taint of money, even though her wealth is estimated at nearly $700-million and her richly appointed lifestyle is part of our fascination with her. The handling of money is only appropriate, presumably, if she is about to give it away.
Money is dirty, in case you don't remember your mother's early admonition to you when you grabbed a lovely, shiny coin to put in your mouth. And then there were those messages that religious leaders handed down. Rich men never seemed to be the ones with halos and easy passes to heaven.
Could the deeply ingrained notion that money is bad explain why discussing it remains a taboo? While some studies show that Canadians are forthcoming about their money - according to an ADP payday poll, 52 per cent of those surveyed said they would discuss their income, but only 21 per cent would divulge secrets about their love life - the popular culture has yet to celebrate and promote financial transparency the way it has unveiled our sexuality.
Money is dirtier than sex.
You don't see a popular TV show called Cash and the City, in which four girlfriends get together regularly to yak about why they have racked up debt and overspent, and the reason they just had to splurge on those Manolo Blahniks last weekend. If there was, the script might go something like this:
"I am compensating, I know it," Carrie confesses. "Without a boyfriend I feel lonely, and somehow populating my closet with new outfits makes me feel less alone."
"I bought a $400 skirt a month ago," whispers Miranda over her cosmopolitan. "But I put it away in my closet, and I haven't even worn it yet, or taken off the tag."
She winces, and takes another swig of her drink. "Every time I look at it, I feel shame. I know I can't really afford it."
"Me?" says Charlotte gaily with a flip of her long, dark hair. "I grew up with money, so even though I don't earn very much, I figure I deserve to have what I want. It's the way I'm used to living, and besides, things always have a way of working out. Some prince will rescue me.
"And anyway, I would rather be in denial. It works for me," she says with a sweet Upper East Side smile.
The women sigh. They look at Samantha. She hasn't said a word.
"I guess it's my turn," the adventurous one says finally. The girls offer her their rapt attention. Will she spill about her latest sexual conquest? Her latest inventive sexual position? "I have almost $17,000 in credit-card debt," she blurts.
The others gasp. "It's true," Samantha continues, feeling suddenly lighter. Her voice is bubbly as champagne, as if the confession of her deepest, darkest secret is somehow cathartic, orgasmic even: such a welcome release.
We live in a culture of money. Its power is among the first lessons we learn about the world. Those seductive, colourful toys, displayed for our pleasure and consumption, cannot be ours without money. Education is sold as a way to earn more money in better jobs. We invent verbs like "monetize" to describe how to turn every endeavour, even those we do for amusement, into profit. And yet we don't talk about it - not easily anyway.
