Pursing My Lips

I'm watching "Antiques Roadshow" right now and am listening to two women rave about an old French purse. My relationship with purses is like my relationship with teddies and the Daughters of the American Revolution.

Yeah, pretty much nonexistent.

Oh, I've owned purses. Two, to be exact. My mom bought me one in junior high and showed me how to carry it (I am not making this up), advising me to carry it around everywhere so that it could become like another appendage to me. I saw no need for another body part, though, and brought it to school exactly once, immediately stuffing it into my locker, next to my math book and some old Wacky Pack stickers.

The second purse I owned--also purchased by my ever-hopeful mother--was about the size of a videocassette. VHS, not Beta. It was a Coach bag, which probably means something to most people. Tidy and not too flashy, I actually carried it to my job at KFOR Radio for an entire year, managing not to lose it, though I have no idea where it is now. It held about four things--my chapstick, a few dollars, my license and a tampon.

Speaking of tampons, most purse-wearing people want to know how I've managed to be a fully-flowered yet non-purse-wearing woman all these years. Well, let's just say it got a bit more difficult after tube socks went out of style. Since those tall-socked glory days, I have learned dozens of ways to transport tammies from place to place. A long sleeve, the elastic of my cotton briefs, a book bag or even a lunch sack all have harbored both heavy- and lite-days companions. Though it can be problematic when I stick my lunch in the fridge. And, if you ever visit the women's bathroom in the East High lounge, know that--as I type this--there is a cottony soft selection for any day of the month. All tucked under the right-hand cushion of the couch.

Thirty eight years of being a Kotex mule. I'll admit that some things get old.

Purse wearers also have asked me how I transport other "must haves," like my license or keys. Mostly, I'm a pocket jammer, hard to do in some outfits. I also have a school bag that harbors my gum, some notebooks, a few dozen sexy pens and my keys. It is not a purse, though. Please do not call it that.

I suspect that I'll make it through the rest of my life without ever again donning a purse. That little fact will probably be the death of my ever-lovely, always-fashionable mother, who, for the past 50 years, has simply wished that I would share my sister's sense of style.

Or at least put on a little blush and brush my hair once in a while.