Peek Into My Purse

While most people swap out flips flops for boots or linen for flannel when the first signs of autumn blow in, I reach for my purse. The first thing I do is trade in my summer bag for chocolatey fall arm candy.  This year I’m trading in a navy and white hobo with gold accents (sounds tackier than it actually is) for a deep brown pebbled leather number I brought home wrapped in tissue and a chamois dust bag from Italy over the summer. I’ve peeped into that bag on the third shelf of my closet all summer long. I fingered the supple brown leather, put my face downright into the dang bag and inhaled deeply, as if the smell would transport me to the leather shop and cobbler from the back streets of Sorrento. I carefully tucked the bag back and beckoned fall.

Alas, Mother Nature is as sick of summer time bugs and humidity as I am. She gracefully responded to my whines and blew in some crisp air that made me run for that chamois dust bag. Truth be told, I also love me some boots so I quickly donned boots too and did a quick calculation to see how many pairs I have and what I need to round out my collection. Don’t ask me how many pairs I have. Mac Daddy reads this blog but he doesn’t count the boxes on my side of the closet. Let’s keep it that way, mkay?

So I took my navy and white hobo and dumped it out on the coffee table. I was pretty astounded at the contents. I do consider myself a bag lady, but not in the Hefty way. Do you dig my drift here? I looked at all the stuff I lugged around all summer and suddenly felt like I needed a back massage. And I realize why my posture sucks. I mean, look at all this stuff I tote around.

Trust me, every little bit is necessary. I can’t imagine how some of you carry around a dainty little Betty Draper bag. I suppose back then women didn’t need more than keys and a lipstick. If you do carry a small/smallish purse, I want to know who you are and how do you do it. Double kudos to the clutch carriers of the world.

My portable medicine cabinet. I’ve hidden anything prescription or illegal. Just kidding, I don’t take any prescription drugs. For that matter, I don’t take anything illegal either. But a girl needs her Zicam. Hand lotion and hand sanitizer are in every single bag I own as well as in my glove compartment. I have the sunblock handy because Mac Daddy never remembers to put it on. I’m pretty sure it was a dermatologist sample. I hope it’s not expired.

Snacks, otherwise known as bribes, are never out of reach. Those almonds are for me. I tend to get hungry in places like waiting rooms. And Oh. Em. Gee. I found Zotz! I stock up every time I find them. I hide them from Bird and Deal, and in the event they blow my cover, I feign choking hazard and up the drama quotient to keep their paws off my Zotz. Notice my rubber banded stack of business cards. I’m official if not a bit tasteless. I realize it’s tres tacky to yank out my rubberbanded cards, but until I start getting some official paychecks from paying clients, this girl’s not going to pony up for a luxe card case.

Gadgetry

At first glimpse you might think I am a gadget girl. Sony PSP, Flip, pink ear phones. To know me is to know how laughable that is. The PSP helps in those waiting rooms when I run out of almonds.

Tissues are handy for way more than snotty noses. They double as napkins in a pinch and serve as blotting paper for red lipstick (because along with fall bringing on boot season, it’s also the beginning of red lipstick season). Tissues smeared with some hand sanitizer are an excellent stand in for wipes. It’s been a while since I had diapers in my house so I don’t have wipes anymore. You better believe my bag was a hell of a lot larger when I toted around baby trappings. Not to be confused with baby droppings. Now that would just be gross. And weird. See the rubberband making an appearance again? I bet I have 4000 video game and skee ball tickets from a local arcade. We’re going to go back on a rainy day to see how many more we can win to trade them in for something extravagant like a single slice of stale Fruit Stripe gum or a solitary marble. Most importantly, take a good gander at the prescription sitting there. What does it say? M.A.M.M.O.G.R.A.M. Let this be your friendly reminder. Mammogram, way better than a singing telegram.

You didn’t think I get my luscious lips naturally, did you? I’m no Lisa Rinna but I do try. I buy lipstick and lip color accessories the way the Real Housewives of New Jersey buy mace. I like lips because they don’t tell when you ate the whole plate of brownies and don’t show it either. It’s my damn thighs I can’t count on to keep a calorie secret. I have lipsticks stashed all over the place, but I have yet to find the perfect shade and brand. I’m open to suggestions, ladies. I’m an addict. Enable me.

You’d think I fancy myself a writer with all those writing implements. I love school supplies, and thanks to a few conferences and hotel stays, I have a dandy collection of pens. I went to BlogHer without any technology but my CrapBerry. I prefer pen and paper over hunting and pecking any day. I’m freakishly excited by the simplest of ball point pens, and the price of a pen has no correlation to how awesome it writes. Also sitting there is a postcard that my new friend Robin gave all of us at the TypeAMom Conference. Her etsy shop, lemons with a pea, is a hoot. And so is she.

So there you have it. My purse contents dumped out for the world to see. While I abhor the cheesy, uber annoying Capital One commercials, I must invoke it here and ask, so what’s in your purse?

Spill it, figuratively, of course.

PS
In case you haven’t satiated your inner voyeur, here’s a glimpse into my bathroom cabinet.