Purses
For my Essay-This! assignment.
I love purses. I'm never without mine. I probably could survive with just my pockets, but I like being able to have anything I could need at any time tucked safely in my fetching purse. I call it a purse, by the way. I know some people call it a bag or a pocket book (pronounced in a number of different ways), but I've always called it a purse. Sometimes it can be cumbersome or even annoying to carry this thing gripped tightly in my hand or slung over a shoulder, but I think the advantages of having it when it's needed versus not having it are ample enough to put up with the occasional inconvenience.
I carry a number of things in 'the purse;' the wallet - stuffed with receipts, cash, credit cards, ATM card, debit card, ID, various coffee club or sandwich shop frequent flyer cards with hole punches awaiting their redemption for a freebie, business cards, the checkbook, the cell phone, glasses, sunglasses, eyedrops for the contacts, contacts case, tampons - in case of emergency, hand lotion, lip gloss, lipstick, chapstick, powder, Tylenol, Advil, a mirror, bandaids, gum, keys, cigarettes, a lighter or ten - which I can never seem to find when my hand is blindly fumbling around in there seeking one out, a pen, the satellite for my Franklin Planner - yes, I know I'm a geek, but at least it's hidden in my purse where no one sees it rather than me carrying the actual planner around like an uber-geek, about 5 lbs. of change - mostly pennies, safety pins, wet naps, and various pieces of jewelry that at some point or another annoyed me enough to remove them and shove them safely into my purse.
The purse becomes sort of a security blanket. On the rare occasion that I'm without it, I feel as if part of me is missing. I use it to stow things. I don't like to leave garbage in my car so I shove things into my purse for easy removal once I'm inside the house. Men are never prepared either. I've always been prepared when an emergency arises because of my purse. I have the phone in case an emergency phone call needs to be made. I have the gum for unforeseen bad breath or boredom. The pen and notepad in case there's something that needs to be written down. The minor makeup items for last minute touch-ups, the lotion for dry skin, bandaids for booboos, safteypins for lost buttons or digging out splinters, the mirror for checking for boogers and other yuckies, etc. etc.
There's also additional space in there for friends' belongings. You know, your non-purse-carrying female friends or male friends who say, 'Hey, could you put my sunglasses in your purse?" and of course you happily oblige whether it be sunglasses, cigarettes, cellphone, keys, or what have you because you, like me, are prepared. You have a purse. You have room. You're a good friend. You're armed with your purse and ready for anything, just like me.
Unfortunately, the purse also lets my OCD shine through a bit. Everything that is in the purse is organized. The cell phone is in its little pouch. The wallet is nicely categorized, makeup in it's bag, glasses in their case, everything in its place. I never have trouble getting to my phone when it rings or finding my keys, or grabbing a pen for someone. This is why I get frustrated and perplexed when I can't seem to locate the lighter.
It's almost a shame that I was never a girlscout -- love their cookies though.
I love purses. I'm never without mine. I probably could survive with just my pockets, but I like being able to have anything I could need at any time tucked safely in my fetching purse. I call it a purse, by the way. I know some people call it a bag or a pocket book (pronounced in a number of different ways), but I've always called it a purse. Sometimes it can be cumbersome or even annoying to carry this thing gripped tightly in my hand or slung over a shoulder, but I think the advantages of having it when it's needed versus not having it are ample enough to put up with the occasional inconvenience.
I carry a number of things in 'the purse;' the wallet - stuffed with receipts, cash, credit cards, ATM card, debit card, ID, various coffee club or sandwich shop frequent flyer cards with hole punches awaiting their redemption for a freebie, business cards, the checkbook, the cell phone, glasses, sunglasses, eyedrops for the contacts, contacts case, tampons - in case of emergency, hand lotion, lip gloss, lipstick, chapstick, powder, Tylenol, Advil, a mirror, bandaids, gum, keys, cigarettes, a lighter or ten - which I can never seem to find when my hand is blindly fumbling around in there seeking one out, a pen, the satellite for my Franklin Planner - yes, I know I'm a geek, but at least it's hidden in my purse where no one sees it rather than me carrying the actual planner around like an uber-geek, about 5 lbs. of change - mostly pennies, safety pins, wet naps, and various pieces of jewelry that at some point or another annoyed me enough to remove them and shove them safely into my purse.
The purse becomes sort of a security blanket. On the rare occasion that I'm without it, I feel as if part of me is missing. I use it to stow things. I don't like to leave garbage in my car so I shove things into my purse for easy removal once I'm inside the house. Men are never prepared either. I've always been prepared when an emergency arises because of my purse. I have the phone in case an emergency phone call needs to be made. I have the gum for unforeseen bad breath or boredom. The pen and notepad in case there's something that needs to be written down. The minor makeup items for last minute touch-ups, the lotion for dry skin, bandaids for booboos, safteypins for lost buttons or digging out splinters, the mirror for checking for boogers and other yuckies, etc. etc.
There's also additional space in there for friends' belongings. You know, your non-purse-carrying female friends or male friends who say, 'Hey, could you put my sunglasses in your purse?" and of course you happily oblige whether it be sunglasses, cigarettes, cellphone, keys, or what have you because you, like me, are prepared. You have a purse. You have room. You're a good friend. You're armed with your purse and ready for anything, just like me.
Unfortunately, the purse also lets my OCD shine through a bit. Everything that is in the purse is organized. The cell phone is in its little pouch. The wallet is nicely categorized, makeup in it's bag, glasses in their case, everything in its place. I never have trouble getting to my phone when it rings or finding my keys, or grabbing a pen for someone. This is why I get frustrated and perplexed when I can't seem to locate the lighter.
It's almost a shame that I was never a girlscout -- love their cookies though.
Labels: Essays
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