Making It Small

I like the things I carry to be small. First Aid kits, tool collections, and so on. I drive a small sedan, used to sail a small sailboat and fly a two-seater airplane, but I can't really claim their limitations as causes of my passion for littleness. A better excuse would be the back trouble that resulted in my two spine operations. When I carry luggage or a briefcase, I'm aware of added ounces. I even weighed the two cordless Braun electric shavers I own--neither being more than a few ounces--so I could select the lighter one for my toiletry kit.
      Take keys, for instance. For some people, a huge wad of keys attached to a belt loop with a bear chain, looking for all the world like the spiked ball of a medieval flail, is not only a tool of office but an emblem of the bearer's importance, as weighty in figurative as in literal terms. For me, a handful of keys is an annoyance that distorts my pocket and makes my trousers sag. And so I try to diminufy, littlize, attenuate, eschewing the car keys with little transmitters, cutting the plastic top from the car key to make it smaller.
      I have a drawer full of little flashlights powered by single AAA batteries or button-cell batteries or their own internal batteries rechargeable by plugging them into USB ports. But the flashlight in my pocket is only a half inch in diameter and one and half inches long--the smallest one I've ever found, but surprisingly bright. It's attached to a penknife that is not the smallest that can be found, though it's the smallest made by the Victorinox Swiss Army people, with fewer than half a dozen features.