The Future of Purses

I have never been a prognosticator but here is a prediction: wheeled purses will be all the rave. You know, like suitcases or packs with wheels on them. My wife needs one. She carries the most amazing collection of supplies in her purse that you could ever imagine. Last summer, I helped her shop for a new one. She spend about an hour looking over a vast collection of the necessary accessories at a large department store on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. There were only three criteria for her new bag: 1) it had to be big, 2) heavy duty straps were a necessity, and 3) an outrageous price was a must.

Don't think I am complaining. If buying purses makes her happy, I am all for it. And I learned long ago that her obsession with never being unprepared is a plus. If I need something, my wife has it in her purse. Really, whatever I can possibly have a need for she can dig out of her bottomless handbag at the drop of a hat and sometimes she will even drop the hat. For example, at this very moment my wife's heavy-duty purse contains the following items: Besides her wallet and check book, she has

a forty-eight piece ratchet set
a box of screw drivers
twelve tubes of lipstick
a roll of duct tape
jumper cables
an adjustable wrench
a bag of boiled peanuts
a sack of hammers
hand lotion
a first-aide kit
a .38 snub nose revolver
an automobile tow strap
tweezers
six packs of ketchup
a beach towel
scissors
four rolls of breath mints
a winter coat
a car jack
a can of hairspray
a sewing kit
a box of nails
finger nail clippers
a measuring tape
Tums
a twelve volt flashlight
two packs of Kleenex
a paint brush
a used hamburger
a can of tennis balls (and she doesn't even play)
three tubes of eyeliner
a shoe shine kit
two five hundred piece jigsaw puzzles
a carpenter's square
a ping pong paddle (leftover from beating our children, I think)
a rain coat
four pounds of ink pens
a can of cat food
every receipt she has ever received in her entire life
a nail file
an empty coke bottle
a roll of paper towels
a jar of peanut butter
fifteen packs of crackers
a change of address form from when we moved thirty-seven years ago
two extra pair of shoes
a wall mounted pencil sharpener
perfume
a coffee cup
a box of crayons
a coffee grinder
nail polish of every color ever created
a comb
a coloring book
half a hot dog
a bottle of car wax
a 2X4
drywall screws
an umbrella
thumb tacs
five mirrors
a change of clothes
a phone book
a coffee maker
thirty-six assorted music CDs
a set of dishes
one small dog (Jeff)
a sack of hard candy (before Jeff ate it)
several pounds of earrings and bracelets
band aides
a hair brush
a hair dryer
four door hinges
a duck caller
face power, flea powder, foot powder
a jar of Duke's Mayonnaise
a laptop computer
something she calls a Jay Pan Fan (Japan fan?)
a set of dishes
sticky notes
a barrel latch
the menu to a local restaurant (huh?)
a dog collar
construction paper
a portable electric heater
a three foot tall plastic Santa Claus
five bottles of water
a gallon of exterior latex house paint
a bottle of aspirin
our daughter's fifth grade report card
a twelve foot long extension cord
rolls and rolls of Christmas wrapping paper
a box of hamburger helper
spare keys to the last four cars she owned (but none to my truck)
a box of shotgun shells
a mouse trap
spare eye glasses
a quart of motor oil
a chair
a Bible
a quart of coins
the carburetor to a 1971 GMC pickup truck
a half-eaten hot tamale
a spare car tire
one rubber boot (did Jeff eat the other?)
a box of cookies
two handmade quilts
three kinds of sunscreen
four watches that don't work
a log chain

I know what you are thinking. Don't do it. Don't bring up a "partridge in a pear tree." If you do, she is subject to snap. She will go from passive-aggressive to aggressive-aggressive, and I will be the one who gets aggressed upon.

But you've gotta be proud of a woman like that. I am. She never goes off half cocked. Like the old boy scout motto, she is prepared. Always prepared. Recently, we were out and about in her truck doing I forget what when I wanted a pencil.

"May I borrow a pencil?" I asked as politely as I could.

"No."

"No?"

"I don't have a pencil."

"You don't have a pencil!?!" I almost screamed.

"Don't raise your voice at me," she yelled back. "I can't keep everything in my purse."

"You can't keep everything in your purse? Really? Really?"

"No!" she screamed loud enough to hurt my feelings. "I have pens. You can borrow a pen," she said pulling out a quart baggie stuffed with one of every style pen ever manufactured in the United States and China over the past decade. She tossed the bag at me.

"I don't want a pen. I want a pencil."

"Well, we can't always get what we want, can we," she said real sassy.

I didn't talk for the rest of the trip.

I guess this means she'll have to get a bigger purse.

She needs one.