I am a man who wishes to pass through this life unencumbered. Which means? That the coffee mugs, jars, and plastic cups overflowing with pennies that now litter my office and bedroom fill me with a sense of dread and oppression—of possessions to which I am shackled.

Offer nickels, dimes, or quarters to the attendant at the drugstore or grocery, and his eyes will glow with comradeship and pleasure. “Change? Thanks, man. We could always use some more.” But offer him pennies and he will only scowl. Nobody wants them—not even my kids.

While I was studying at Oxford 20 years ago, the British decided to remove the half-penny from circulation. (Killing the half-penny was quite different from killing the guinea. One was annoying and useless, the other—and here I wish to agree very explicitly with Derb—was a thing of idiosyncrasy and beauty.) By my calculation, the American penny is worth less today than the half-penny was worth back then. So let’s do what needs to be done.

If Margaret Thatcher could summon the courage, so can we.