What's In Your Purse?

Good Morning America did a segment about how what's in your purse says a lot about who you are. Diane Sawyer showed the contents of four purses to an expert who explained what kind of person owned each one. A purse personality expert? The Apocolypse is lurking around the corner. 

Anyways, you got your super organized, the not so organized, the ready for anything, and the terrorist. [Kidding.] Diane's purse was the one that included vinyl gloves and a "condom" to put over someone's mouth, so she could perform CPR. Oh, please. She also had her passport and a pack of cinnamon gum, which made her "adventuresome."

I can't believe that one's gum choice could reveal anything. Juicy Fruit supposedly means you're a team player and a people pleaser. Peppermint escapes me, but there was a pack in the very organized purse that was full of pockets -- those kinds of people always worry about their breath. Sticks of Clove gum mean you grew up in the fifties. Hubba Bubba means you're emotionally stuck in junior high. Bet you can't tell which ones I'm making up.

All this time I thought life in the good old US of A was all about size, but I guess it's flavor that matters.

People who mean to be organized but carry around receipts that get wrinkled and covered with gunk need to get a plastic bag to put that stuff in. Or some kind of a clip. What about people that have unidentifiable pills rolling around on the bottom? There was nothing said about that. How about people who carry pictures of old boyfriends? Or a sewing kit? I have no idea who those people are. None. Not me, of course.

My purse has make up, an emery board, a pair of reading glasses, my cellphone, a pick for my hair, a bobby pin, checks, bank cards, business cards, and my passport, which I have with me at all times. You never know when you have to catch the redeye to Paris.

I usually carry cinnamon Tic Tacs or cinnamon gum, but not today. I also cheat. I keep gas and other receipts I've collected, along with the occasional lottery ticket [when the pot gets high enough] as well as extraneous keys and a pair of scissors in that storage thing next to the driver's seat. So my car is just an extension of my purse. Anything that doesn't fit in my purse or the armrest goes on the floor behind the front seat.

I used to have one of those things that holds two tampons. I used to have a Leatherman, too. I've also brought along a toothbrush, a change of underwear, and food. More than once. And not for the reasons you might think.

What's comparable to a purse for guys? Their pockets? Gym bags? The glove compartment? 

And do they all have a little package with a Trojan logo on it that leaves a permanent imprint on their wallets?

I once sprained my ankle playing tennis and the paramedics were called to take me to the hospital, but not before the guys I was playing with had their way with me.

When I went down on the court, one of them got a chair to elevate my leg. Another got some ice. And the third covered my face. "She's dead isn't she?" 

The owner of the club came out, looked at me lying in the middle of the court, checked his watch and said, "Well, I'm going to have to charge you for court time."

Finally my partner had someone get my purse from my locker. The paramedics were loading me up when he brought it out. "Everything's in there, except for the condoms. We didn't think you'd be needing them."