So I’m a few days behind on writing. Shit happens. Actually, it was the weekend. Which was super fun (more on it another time when I actually have a moment to put it all together).
I’m sure like any other woman, you’ve got bags for days (and not the kind under your eyes. Or maybe you do). I can only recall one time in my life where I actually paid full price for a handbag I really wanted. I was twenty four and had gotten a Christmas bonus. I had been eyeballing this red leather bag for months. The bonus from work was a surprise and I spent forty five minutes looking at that bag in the mall before actually picking it up. I carried it on my shoulder to see if I liked it. I checked the pockets to see how deep they were. I thought maybe red was too flashy for a purse. Maybe it was too “mature” for me to have such a bag. I was actually sweating when I purchased it because it was well over $100. That was quite a bit of coin for me at the time, but, I had the Christmas bonus.
Oh, and cue the MOM guilt.
I thought of a million fun things I could do with that money with MD in tow. I thought about what I could buy him. I thought about putting it in his college fund. The rainy day fund. The “I grew overnight and need new clothes” fund. Yet, in the end, I concluded I needed to do something for myself. Just this once.
I bought that red handbag. I still have it and carry it on occasion.
Now I mainly carry around a Kelly green Ogio bag that I picked up at the KSU bookstore. I can stuff my tablet in the center pocket (which came padded for that very purpose), it has three main compartments, lots of nooks and slots. Which means, it takes me about five minutes to locate my keys and my work badge EVERYDAY. I don’t care, I love that bag.
So let’s get to the meat of all this, shall we? What the hell is in my bag?
And yes, I did arrange it all neatly because I secretly have a thing for order. What does all this say about me? I have no idea. I’ve got sketch pads, notebooks, markers, patterns, knitting, books, perfume, photos, wallets, my rosary, a tampon, a tube of glitter, a cigar punch on my keychain, books and oh yeah, nicorette gum so I don’t punch you in the face.
All of that fits nicely inside my bag.
Sometimes I carry my tablet or laptop with me. Sometimes I don’t.
I think it’s important to have shit to do besides play Tetris on your phone. If I’m in a waiting room, I’ll read. If I’m waiting for a doctor, I’ll knit. If I’m sitting in traffic, I’ll be chomping the gum. I put perfume on twice a day. I pray the rosary once, maybe twice. That J. Edgar Hoover book I bought for a dollar and it’s really interesting. A Literate Passion gets my creative mind flowing and keeps my head in the clouds. I sketch when I have a moment and I write everyday. Actually, that little notepad is full- I’ve got eight pages of notebook paper shoved in my desk with more writing.
When I’m feeling extra fancy or feminine, I’ll carry a clutch- but really, what the hell is that good for? Nothing. That’s what. As any woman would know, sometimes you just gotta have extra stuff. If you’re a Mom, you need a bigger bag. You think you’ll get to downsize from a diaper bag, but really, you don’t. Because who is going to hold the GI Joes? Who will keep the Hot Wheels? The gum? The snacks? The extra juice pack? Bandaids? Kleenex? Chapstick?
Mom and her bag, that’s who. Unless your man carries a Murse or your significant other also has an equally impressive handbag.
Or they wear cargo shorts. Which is like a purse on your person.
You know what? Someone needs to just create flesh pockets so we can … no. That’s getting to Orson Welles isn’t it?