For nearly a lifetime, I have been trying to track down the perfect handbag. Every time I go into a department store, I am drawn to pretty purses. Sometimes willingly; sometimes not. Even when I resist the urge, a
magnetic force pulls me in, and there I go again, searching for a
pocketbook that will help me organize my clutter. I analyze the architecture of
each one. I measure compartments for lipstick, note pad, pencil and pen.
Fashion is not the primary issue here; organization is the focus. But all too often, when
sizing-up a handbag, I find that it is too big, too little, too heavy, or that it lacks
the indispensable outside pocket for my keys.
One day while I evaluated a
prospective purchase in a store, a woman across from me, obviously in her own
sanctimonious search, made a comment, whereupon we exchanged commiserating
dialogue about our handbag pursuits. I revealed to the stranger my mission to find the perfect bag. She confided in me that, without realizing
it, she had been doing the same thing.
After comparing notes about our failed missions, the
stranger, who didn’t seem like a stranger anymore, walked away empty-handed,
but on that day, I found the presumptive flawless bag. It was lightweight with
partitions and cubbyholes and even boasted of the crucial outside pocket. Happy
with my new find, I went home and filled up the compartments with essential
nonessentials from my archaic address book to mini flashlight.
Unfortunately, as time went on, my new handbag became overcrowded. With an eerie resemblance
to the movie Groundhog Day, another
hunt ensued and the cycle began all over again.
