What's in there, anyway?

Recently a stranger asked me if I had a nail file in my purse.  As a matter of courtesy, even though I knew I did not carry one with me on a regular basis, I made a pretense of looking through my purse before apologizing that I did not.  What I could offer her was an old peppermint candy that appeared to have been in the bottom of my purse since 2003, a flattened souvenir penny from a trip to Seattle in 1999, a wine bottle opener that perfectly removes the cork without putting a hole in the top of it, a sewing kit to make an emergency repair of a button or a hem, or a screwdriver with a variety of interchangeable heads in the event she needed to escape from a bathroom stall by unscrewing the jammed locking mechanism.

The absurdity of the collection of junk in my purse made me wonder what other women carry in their purses.  Women have a code:  we excuse ourselves to the restroom in pairs, shop in groups, and frequent bars in packs.  I wondered if there was a purse code I was not following.  I had to know, so I conducted an informal and entirely unscientific research study.  With the wonder of the World Wide Web at my fingertips, I asked about one hundred women what was lurking in their purse at that very moment.

Over the next few hours the responses came flying into my email box.  Several women wrote three times; first to declare the items in their purse, a second time to explain the contents in their purse, then a third time to apologize for what was in their purse.    I began to feel guilty that I caused so much anxiety in these women that they felt the need to explain – some in undignified detail – why their purse holds what it does.

So what’s in these handbags of hazardous waste?  First, and not surprisingly, let me tell you that women are prepared for every medical emergency ever imagined.  I’m not talking Band-Aids and antibiotic cream, tweezers and cuticle scissors, though those items were inventoried as well.  This is battlefield material:  CPR masks, sterile gloves, sewing kits for stitching skin back together, and, my personal favorite, duct tape (for holding open wounds closed, I was told).  The amount of handguns and pistols reported will make me think twice about barking at that woman who cuts me off in line at the grocery store.  Statistically speaking, she’s more likely to whip out her pretty little hot-pink 9 mm than be satisfied just shooting me a dirty look.

If you happen to get caught in an elevator stuck between floors let’s hope there are four or five women near you.  You won’t starve, your pet won’t starve, your recommended daily allowance of vitamins and minerals will be satisfied, and static cling will not be a problem.  I understand carrying a granola bar or maybe a few pieces of hard candy in the bottom of a purse.  Even the assortment of chocolates, smashed and almost unrecognizable, pried from the corners of the inside pocket, is something most women can relate to easily.  Imagine, though, the level of maintenance required to stockpile crackers, fresh fruits, and vegetables in a handbag on a regular basis.  Think about it!  And when did it become necessary to carry dryer sheets?  What marvelous wonders do these little cloth tissues hold that makes them a necessity to carry at all times?

And let me tell you, there’s not a hardware store in America that compares to the mechanical malfunctions for which women are prepared:  pliers, screwdrivers, electrical tape, cotter pins, tape measures, even a mini-saw.  Where are these women going every day that these tools are necessary?  Has feminism gone so far that we cannot ask a man to tighten a screw or prune our hedges?

What was most surprising was what wasn’t mentioned in women’s purses.  Not one woman reported she keeps aspirin in her purse.  Apparently, we only get headaches at home, usually at night about thirty minutes before bed, so we don’t need the aspirin in our purse. No one mentioned practical items like a spare house key or a calculator.  And not one woman found a nail file in her purse.  I feel much better now.