By Staff
Leada Gore, Editor
A couple of years ago, I won a lipstick contest. I was at a women’s group meeting and they had a contest to determine who had the most lipstick containers in their purse.
I won, hands down. I had 16 lipsticks in my purse, including six in one little container. Out of the 16, I think I actually used about three, but that didn’t matter. If I wanted fire engine red or angel pink, I had it at my fingertips. I was prepared for any occasion.
It also showed, of course, that my purse was a mess. Rest assured I had much more in my purse than 16 lipsticks. As Greg will attest, my purse is a virtual suitcase of all sorts of things.
If you checked my purse today, you would find about 12 or so lipsticks, a couple of packages of tissues, a giant wallet stuffed with receipts, coupons and both current and out-of-date identification. There would also be a couple of nail files, loose change, a hairbrush that hasn’t been used in years and a note pad, in case I think of something I need to write down. This doesn’t mean there’s necessarily a pen in my purse, which makes the notepad rather obsolete, but that doesn’t matter.
There are also directions and phone numbers written on scraps of paper and stuffed in a side pocket. None of these contain the name of the destination or the person I was trying to call, but I figure in an emergency I would just dial all the numbers. My cell phone is stuck in the bottom of my purse, too. There’s a little pocket inside the purse where it’s supposed to go, but it’s filled with all the phone numbers and directions, so I have to fish around in the bottom for the phone. Usually by the time I find it, the person on the other end has hung up.
Other odd things will hang out in there a while, too. My purse has carried everything from a dog collar and piece of fruit to a laptop cord and a stray shoestring. These things do get cleaned out eventually, but only after I stopped needing them in the first place.
The ironic thing about my messy purse is that I’m not a messy person. I’m the neat one in my house, the one who hates scraps of paper and likes to have even the dreaded kitchen junk drawer organized.
My purse, however, is the exception. It’s the one place where I allow myself to be messy and no matter what anyone says, my purse will remain my own personal treasure trove, my one area of messiness.
My purse and the trunk of my car, that is. Turns out a person needs two personal treasure troves.