It has come to this. I am now an official member of the “Dump Your Purse Club.” Purse dumping is a family tradition. Family members would agree that if you can’t find it in a jiffy, let ‘er drop and make it spiffy!
Perhaps I should throw in a disclaimer: I actually didn’t dump my purse on the bed today. It was my oversized cosmetic bag. My daughter was in need of a pair of tweezers (now, Mama!), and I only had twelve seconds before she would begin writhing on the floor in pain over a splinter. Mercifully, I found them with three seconds to spare. The tweezers were between an old, rusty razor and a bottle of perfume. Right next to my pillow and a pair of socks.
My mother used to dump her purse, which grew larger from year to year, to find whatever she was looking for at the moment: keys, a tape measure, utensils, small garden tools. You name it; she had it in there.
I envy those danty dames who strictly travel with a “carry-all” and who can board the plane with a carefree swing. Tittering along in pressed business suits, they tote their bags on wheels behind them. Carry-all! Who ever heard of such a thing? Where would I fit my bowling ball, not to mention the accompanying shoes, just in case?
There are many benefits to dumping your purse on the bed. Not only do you find what you are looking for quickly, but other people do as well. This evening, my daughter came running into my office, just hours after the dump occurred. Her face was flushed, and she held her fist high. It revealed a handful of colorful hair bands, barrettes, and necklaces.
“Look, Mama! Look what I found on the bed!!” She scampered off before I could warn her not to touch the rusty razor.
It can’t be that bad. I’ve not yet turned into my mother, have I? Running downstairs to the dining room, I approached my handbag with caution. It was a sleek, designer bag with little actual storage space. At the time, I had bought it because it matched my wallet. It fit the wallet and one bus ticket. Had I put anything else in it, the purse would no longer snap shut. Then, I casually glanced at a bag hanging from the kitchen radiator. It was a free advertising gift from one of those cosmetic catalogues. It had fake leopard’s skin trim and two straps that fit comfortably over my shoulder. I peered inside to examine the contents: a CD player, five CDs, a wallet, hairbrush, movie guide, and a map. The side pocket held lipstick, lip protector, a comb, and fifty cents.
Placing both the designer bag and the rip-off leopard version on the kitchen counter, I assessed the situation. Could I really be found with this zoo animal slung over my shoulder? Would I be able to live with myself if, one day, I actually did dump the contents of the leopard purse onto the bed?
It’s actually a make-up bag, I reasoned. It’ll be okay. Really. Until I graduate to a bigger size. That’s when I vow to throw out my bowling ball and the matching shoes.
Christine Louise Hohlbaum, author of Diary of a Mother: Parenting Stories and Other Stuff, has been writing since she was eleven. She currently lives with her husband and two children near Munich, Germany. Make sure to visit her web site at:
http://mypages.iparenting.com/webs/diaryofamother/diaryofamother.html
mailto: chohlbaum@smith.alumnae.net
