Purse Pitfalls

Here's another piece I wrote. Enjoy.



Purse Pitfalls




Am I the only one who feels like a failure-all because I cleaned out my purse? Let me explain.
As a busy mother of 3 small children, and to be honest, not ever a neat nick, my pocket book has a tendency to not only serve as a portable filing cabinet, but also a trash can. The result is chaos in my clutch, and so many lost opportunities; with hard to find flyers, coupons, and news letters that end up buried at the bottom of my bag.
.There are coupons crammed down into the crevices, covered with mysterious crumbs, most likely from a half-eaten snack from my 4 yr old son. These are the same coupons that I can never find while standing in line at the grocery store. Some days I wonder if they have some sort of cloaking device, that their secret desire is not to be redeemed, but to live their life covered in crumbs at the bottom of my purse. Okay, so I probably watch too much Sci-Fi, but I swear they are not there when I need them, but when I shovel out my purse, there they are, mocking me. Man, the money I could have saved, if only I were more organized.
Also forgotten in the depths, I come across flyers and brochures for various cool places to take my kids. The kind of venues that will be sure to culturally enhance their little minds, perhaps even spark an interest so much, that it could lead them someday to greatness. When they are an adult and have a sparkling career in Astrophysics, they’ll come to me and say, “Remember Mom, when you took me to that museum? If I hadn’t gone there and gotten that early look at all that cool stuff, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”
But, because of my muddled, middle-aged mind, I forgot I had stuffed those flyers into my bag. So now, my kids will probably have sparkling careers as Men’s or Ladies room attendants, all because I’m a slob. (No offense to people who are Men’s or Ladies room attendants, I’m sure they’re lovely folks who are just trying to earn a paycheck. But, honestly, would you rather your child grow up to be a Scientist or someone who hands out towels in a toilet all day?)
I pull out a crumpled mass that used to be a brochure for some sort of life altering opportunity. There are the remains of a lollipop stuck to it, and the date has already passed, so I throw it away. Talk about missed opportunities, I am so bummed out whenever I find any fuzzy M&Ms rolling around at the bottom of my purse. It is so sad that they have been deprived of their purpose in life, which is to be eaten by me.
Of course, along with the educational pamphlets for the kiddies, in the deepest corner, way, way at the bottom of my pocket book, are the schedules for classes at the gym. Again, all those dates have long since passed me by. Maybe if I had immediately taken those schedules out of my bag and posted them on the fridge, I would now be svelte. Well, maybe not svelte. I would settle for my curvaceous pre-child bearing form. Okay, so it was less curvy and perhaps even pear-shaped, but that beats my current form which is more …yam-shaped.
I often rationalize that I am at least getting an upper body workout lugging my heavy bag around, but the problem with that delusion is that it’s hard to see all that definition under my layers of fat.
All those lost chances of saving money, enriching my children’s lives, and being a buff mom, are lost to the pit that is my purse. So, what is the remedy? Maybe a smaller satchel, so I’m forced to go through and dig out more often? I’ve tried that and it doesn’t seem to work. All those papers have a way of pushing other important stuff out, like my keys or wallet.
When I have so much stuffed in my purse, that it is overflowing, I know I have to empty it out. With a plastic grocery bag at my side for trash, I rummage through each compartment, throwing out most of what’s in there. It’s weird how the contents of a regular size purse can somehow fill a garbage bag. There is some strange space altering phenomenon going on here. Now we’re talking Sci-Fi.
The ironic part of it all is that I usually keep all the stuff I need, like keys, cell phone, and money in my pocket, so I don’t even really need a purse. Honestly, the only time it comes in handy is when I am sneaking food into the movie theater. Although my pocketbook is really to blame for all those lost opportunities, in the long run it has saved me hundreds of dollars I would have spent on movie theater snacks.
So why do I carry a purse, you might ask? Well, because my friend bought the really cool purple swirly patterned one I have now. It’s from Sri Lanka, or Tibet, or Tehran- I can’t remember exactly where, but somewhere exotic. Everyone notices it and comments on it and asks where I got it from. When I tell them, “Yes, it is cool isn’t it? It’s from Turkistan” I hope they will think I actually went there just to purchase it, and therefore am way cooler than I really am. The purse also has multi-colored fuzzy balls hanging on the sides, and people often like to play with them. Okay, there is some disturbing Freudian thing going on there that is better off left unexamined. I think we should move on.
So in conclusion, my pocketbook’s only purpose is for smuggling contraband and because it gives me an air of mystery. The heck with the fact that it was probably made by toddlers from a third world country or that it masks all the missed chances of inspiring my child into greatness. It’s really, really, pretty, and I like it. How depressing. I think I’ll go rummage through my purse for some M&Ms now.

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