Chick Wit

Let’s talk about a decision that women have to make every morning:

Big purse or little purse?

I know it’s not life or death, but it makes you nuts if you choose the wrong one as consistently as I do. 

If you carry a big purse for the day, it’s guaranteed that you’ll end up never needing anything you’re lugging around like a pack animal.  And if you carry a little purse for the day, you’ll invariably end up tucking things under your armpit or asking your husband to carry them. 

It’s Purse Lotto, and there are winners and losers, every day.

I lose, almost always.  I keep track, and if I choose the right purse four days out of seven, I’m Purse Diva.  Most weeks, I choose correctly only one day.

Purse Geek.   

Now I can already hear you menfolk, thinking that the problem can be solved by a medium-size purse.  That seems sensible, but it doesn’t work. 

Not your fault, gentlemen.  How would you know?  Unless you carry a man purse, in which case, play along.

In reality, a medium purse is the worst of both worlds.  It’s not big enough to carry everything you need, and it’s not small enough to let you feel footloose and fancy free.  And besides, medium defeats the purpose of adding fun to your life by gambling with handbags. 

So I say, live dangerously.  Choose big or little.  Pick your poison.  See if, by the end of the day, you’re a Purse Hero or a Purse Loser.

Use me as your inspiration.  You couldn’t do worse. 

Just the other day, I chose a big purse and ended up walking all over NYC with daughter Francesca, carrying the weight of the world on my shoulder.  I didn’t need the hardback book, full makeup case, or water bottle. 

Turns out they have water in New York, too.

So the next day, I carried a cute little purse, but wrong again.  I couldn’t zip it up after I bought a pack of gum, so I walked everywhere worried that my keys would fall out or I’d get pick-pocketed.  And Francesca had to carry our umbrella, newspaper, and everything else in her nice big purse. 

It goes without saying that the day you choose the wrong purse, your daughter will choose the right one.  Last week, Francesca was six for seven. 

Purse Diva. 

It was the same week I got so frustrated that I opted out of Purse Lotto altogether.  Francesca and I went to a movie, and I carried only my wallet.  

Whoa.  I threw caution to the summer wind.  I went free and easy, like July itself.

Francesca looked over.  “Why no purse?”

“Traveling light.”

“You should carry a purse, Mom.”

“Don’t need one.”

We settled into our seats at the movie, and Francesca gestured at my wallet.  “Where are you gonna put that?”

I blinked.  The seat to the right of me was taken, and my cupholder held a Diet Coke and Raisinets.  I couldn’t admit defeat and ask her to put my wallet in her big purse, so I set the wallet under my chair, on the sticky floor.  Yuck.

“See?” I said, hiding my distaste.  “No problem.”

It worked out perfectly until we left the theater, got several blocks away, and I remembered that my wallet was still on the floor.  We hurried back, and it was still there, probably because even felons couldn’t unstick it.  Then we went out to dinner. 

“Now where are you gonna put the wallet?” Francesca asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Right here.”  I set it down on the empty chair next to me, no problem.   I didn’t forget it either.  But when we had gotten a few blocks from the restaurant, I realized that I’d been so worried about my wallet, I’d left my credit card on the table.  We hurried back, for the second time that day.

So now I lose at Wallet Lotto, too.

“I shoulda brought a purse,” I said, going home, after all was recovered.

“Next time.”  Francesca patted me on the back.  “Don’t feel bad.”

“Which purse should I have brought, oh sage one?”

“The small.”

Purse Genius.

Copyright © Lisa Scottoline