I think some of these compartments are actually gates to other worlds, to purses alien women on other planets lug around, alien women who are equally wondering what the hell that little sleeve is for and feeling just the tiniest bit less-than for the not-knowing. Besides, how can we ever predict what clever technological device is going to be invented that will be necessary for Life on Earth and therefore what correspondingly genius wee pouch in this year’s gottahaveit bag will be de riguer? Not to mention that the necessary new technology will ALSO enrage me…
But wait, there’s more! The actual decision itself. Buying a purse brings up the pesky question for me: just who am I, anyway? Am I the plaid purse type? Leather only? Boho? A PATTERNED purse?? I’m certainly not the type to change purses with my outfit, my God is that a foreign concept or what. I’m lucky I leave the house with shoes on. I can see myself dumping out one purse and stuffing my assorted junk into a matching bag, no doubt forgetting the thing I desperately need in one of those eentsy compartments.
And don’t even start with those adorable clutches, or bags with just the hand strap (no shoulder strap) for dancing through the daisies. I NEED that hand! That hand needs to make calls! That hand has to hold onto another sack of stuff no doubt; it has to gesture and hold coffee and DRIVE, multitask, for crying out loud! Clutches are for women who lunch, who come home to rooms cleaned and tidied by other hands, pas pour moi.
And so I leave the bag department, exhausted and fragmented, only to stumble upon…lacy undergarments, bras that uplift me and puff me up, shapers that tubify me and photoshop me, nip and tuck me with their lycra, their straps and their gear, and it’s then that I know I have entered the living, breathing hell of…LINGERIE…
NOOOOOO!!!!
