What My Purse Says About Me

A little help from AI to illustrate just how bad my purse problem was back in 2012. This is not me, and it’s not my daughter at 16, but you get the idea.

I originally published this blog in January 2012, when my daughter was a teenager. It may be one of the most relatable and humorous things I’ve ever written, so, I’m giving it new life—and maybe a few new readers.

I have a purse problem. I admit it. 

This doesn’t mean I have a purse addiction, as in, I spend gobs of money on designer purses out of some consumerism-motivated fetish. 

No, I really have a problem.

And my number one critic who’s ready to tell me just how much of a problem I have? That’s right, my daughter. 

It starts with the shape and size of purse I prefer to carry. My daughter believes that this is where my issues begin. 

If it’s too large—you know where this is going, ladies—I cram it with too much stuff, she says. But if it’s too small, it doesn’t work. 

And some of the stuff that’s in there, well according to her, it’s just plain unacceptable. 

The wallet, that’s OK. I mean, she might want something out of there, right? 

And the zipped bag with cosmetic items—lip balm, lipstick, concealer, pressed powder, a comb—that’s all acceptable. 

It’s the floating items that get me into trouble. 

You know the ones. Pens. Random receipts. Cell phone. Ahem, feminine products. Anything that may not have been properly returned to the zippered cosmetic bag. 

And, of course, keys.

We’ve all done it. Or, at least, many of us who are not ultra-type A organized. The purse dive for the keys that, at its most messy and desperate, ends in the parking lot on the hood of the car with all of the items poured out. 

Yeah, well, even a mere fumbling for my keys on the way to the car will cause my daughter to go into paroxysms of profound exasperation. 

She says, “I HATE your purse.” 

What’s she’s really saying is, "I HATE that you don't keep up with your stuff, and I LOATHE your profound lack of organization, a gene I share, so I, therefore, despise this trait in you."

Yep, that’s what she’s saying.

In fact, she carries the compact, neatly organized purse with everything in its place. She can quickly find her keys in one easy dig. Of course she does.

A true test of unconditional love
But it gets worse. She really detests that I frequently shove a water bottle in there. 

Remember that reference to floating items? I knew I was on the downward spiral of handbag behavior when, while walking down the sidewalk one day, I started dripping. About 10 ounces of water poured into my purse from the not completely closed bottle. There I was, standing in my local optometrist’s office, sopping up a water-logged wallet and squeezing out receipts. 

Had she been there, she just would have walked out and hitched a ride home to avoid the shame. 

My father-in-law works near a certain designer purse outlet, and he’s outfitted many of the women in our family with these purses. So for Christmas, he gave me one.

I questioned if I was worthy of such a gift. My purse practices had not prepared me for such a pursuit in purse ownership. 

But, I accepted the gift—and the challenge. 

Hitting rock bottom: It’s a purse, not a portable compost bin 
On a post-Christmas outing on which my daughter was driving, I took my old and new purses in order to make the transfer of stuff.

Of course it gave me the opportunity to organize, pare down, throw away. The entire time, I had to endure my daughter’s ridicule over the stuff in my old purse. 

She laid the ground rules for the new: I had to keep things organized, I couldn’t stuff too much in there, and there would be absolutely no toting of water in THIS purse. 

Just as she finished up her list of requirements, I came in contact with something in the corner of the old purse. First, an opened bag of sliced apples. They were still edible. Then, more probing... “What’s this?” I asked, as I pulled out a sealed bag of orange matter, mostly liquid. 

“Oh! It’s baby carrots!” 

They were completely liquefied. And my daughter was completely horrified. 

Her convulsive gagging impulses almost caused me to grab the wheel. But her mouth continued with a spew of condemnation about my purse problem.

Then, she pulled out the big guns: “You’re not responsible enough to own a Coach™ purse!” she retorted.

Oh, snap! The big zinger. She got me. 

A path of handbag healing
And so, since that all-time low point, I’ve consistently worked to curb my disorganized ways and carefully monitor my purse practices. There’s a new level of accountability that I now feel…so I, too, can earn the badge of responsible high-end purse owner. 

But I slipped up a little last night. 

We were at the grocery store. I was driving. On the way out, I reached in. The keys were not in the first purse pocket. Or the second. There was a large gust of exhalation to my left. “Mother!” 

And just in the nick of redeemable time, I reached, not in one of the two large cavernous spaces, you understand, but in the third pocket—and made physical contact with the keys! 

Whew! We were on our way. And me? I am still on the path of possessing a purse responsibly. 

What about you? Do you have stories to share about purse packing problems?