I idolize teenage girls. It’s not because they have gorgeous figures or because they are intelligent and lively. It’s not because they have perfect skin or titter when someone accuses them of being older. It’s because they manage to survive, toting teensy-weensy purses.

Just my wallet wouldn’t fit in one of those tiny contraptions. I carry very important cards. First I have my bra and panty cards I can pull out when I am in Macys and impulsively buy the latest undergarment.  It’s too bad no one gave me a flannel nightgown card—I would have filled that up by now. I also carry my turkey card. I only have to buy $1000 worth of groceries before I can get a free ten-pound bird. I’ll have to eat a lot before the next holiday. Of course, I pack my bagel card.  After eight hole punches, I get another dozen bagels. The only problem is that I have multiple cards; I frequently “misplace” one as I am fumbling around begging the cashier, “What’s the color, what’s the color?” Let’s not forget the cards from three different video stores. This is tricky as I must not pull out the competitor’s card at the wrong store. I may be banned from taking out a video and then where would I be on a Friday night? Added to these cards are my camera store card, sub sandwich card, long distance calling card, Triple A card, professional membership card, bakery card, wind up toy card, bank card, and health club card. I am proud of myself. I have wheedled down my blood donor cards from two to one.  I kept them both for a time because one said I was O negative and one said B negative. The third time, I received an O negative, so I went with the best of three.

Besides carrying cards, I must remember my brush and make-up. Didn’t these young women ever get the lecture from mother to freshen up throughout the day? If I am lucky, I brush my hair once after lunch and put on a touch of lipstick but that is a rare occasion. This fact does not stop me from carrying a large brush and comb, foundation, blush, eye shadow, mascara, two lipsticks, an eyebrow plucker, and a nail clipper. Do I think that I am going to notice a stray hair sticking out of my eyebrow at lunch and pluck it out? It is a noble idea but a false one. I would never be able to find my tweezers hiding in the corner of my purse, and if I did they would stab me as I grappled for them digging my nails into the sand that is always on the bottom.

And another thing. What do young women do when they get sick and they are away from home? Don’t they need to be able to reach for Ibuprofen or Pepto-Bismol or cough drops or vitamins? It is true a combination of pills can be put in a little pillbox but then it is a guessing game if one is taking the right pill for the right ailment. The pills in my little round tin are unrecognizable-I do not remember what they were prescribed for. I like the sound of full plastic bottles rotating like miniature rock polishers.

Crammed next to the pills are my glasses, checkbook, calendar, address book, and notepad. Dipping into my purse, I can usually locate a writing utensil from an assortment of pens, pencils, and magic markers.  I say “usually” because invariably the pencil I choose has the lead ground off from smashing against the bottles. Many times ink leaks into the bottom of the purse.  I am victorious when I locate something that writes.

I will always be schlepping around my large leather bag that only changes when the stains get pitiful or the handles rip off. The new model sighs as I throw in my bulging wallet, make up, brushes and combs, glasses, medicines, checkbook, calendar, phone book, receipts, reminders, sales slips, candy, gum, pens, keys, and money from another country. The sand at the bottom somehow gets there on its own.  The day I start carrying around an itsy bitsy purse, will be the day I clean off the counters of my kitchen and pitch out all the junk mail.