Mamma's Bag
Did you know that your purse has a voice? It tells volumes about your personality and
lifestyle...at least mine does, and it has a real big mouth!
Lately I�ve been wondering how this came to pass: an evolution from a tiny fanny-pack
into a monstrosity, which my husband calls the �epicenter of chaos�. I�m bothered by
what that statement implies. Is my life out of control? Am I as neurotic as the
contents of my purse lead one to believe?
I realize that my purse grew with the family. In fact, for a while all I had was a huge
diaper bag. As our children passed through toddler hood I was able to discard it and
look for something trendier...you know, something with style.
I recall visiting the leather department numerous times, fondling the sassy new
pocketbooks and daydreaming. In reality though, I found out that I could no longer �fit�
into the premarital purse sizes. My lifestyle, as a mother of three, seemed to require
a bag that could accommodate a world of needs. And so, I opted for a fake leather tote
because of its large size. Little did I know of its dark side then.
It is said that a woman's purse is like a micro cosmos of her life, so how did I end
up with a gigantic black hole? Things just seem to disappear without a trace. ..or worse
yet: transform to something else. Really. When I put in cash, out come just receipts.
When I want to offer a mint, out comes a box of Tampax. This is a fearsome form of
magic which keeps the men of my household humble. In fact, if they ever need anything
from my purse, they just bring it to me...carrying it gingerly as if it were roadkill.
No one in my family laughs at my purse gags anymore. I think they've been soaked by
rain too many times as I've failed to find my keys. It is obvious that my messy purse
is a source of stress and confusion to many. And yes, it testifies to the fact that I
am rather impulsive and disorganized.
If happiness really is a choice, then I had better choose to clean up my act...my bag
to be more exact. I yearn for the balance and joy of being organized.
Just as an athlete trains by visualization, I close my eyes and imagine success in the
arena of my daily life. I see peace and harmony. I see myself at the Walmart check out
counter. On my shoulder dangles a tiny pocketbook matching my out fit. I feel
weightless, for I am completely stress free. I slide my hand effortlessly into the
leather and pull out the cash. The cashier smiles and the customers clap their hands.
� 2004 Anne Maarit Ghan
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