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A look into the deep, dark recesses of my purse hide many items that I think I can't live without. It's scary in there; so scary, in fact, that when my husband needs the keys to the truck,he brings me my purse instead of risking a peek inside.

My purse isn't really a purse, it's a tote. A L.L. Bean tote in pink and blue (maybe the pink frightens my husband too)that I carry with me everywhere. It's sitting beside me right now and I'm even scared to reach my hand inside to pull of what's inside so I can describe it properly. Okay, deep breath. Here goes.

My cell phone, of course. Not just any cell phone; it's so old it's one step away from having a cord. I wanted to jazz it up a bit so I got some sticky pink jewels to put on it. My husband never, ever uses my phone. A dainty hanky that I bought at an antiques place today with embroidered daisies; my wallet, which has so much stuff in it that it won't zip shut; an address book that is completely blank (I wondered where I put that!); THREE planner/calandars (don't ask, 'cause I have no idea why I have three different planners); my passport (hey, you never know when you might decide to take a quick trip out of the country); a Blistex lip balm; lyrics to a song called "Wandering Stranger" that I sang at church about a year ago; two checkbooks (mine and my mother's);four photos of my grandchildren that I meant to give to my daughter the other day, but obviously didn't; a birthday card from my friend Lorrie; a crumpled straw wrapper from McDonalds; oops, make that two; a pepper packet from McDonalds; my step-father's death certificate; my mother's dog's rabies certificate; a temporary driver's license (this just makes me mad-I spent over an hour at Dept. of Motor Vehicle only to be told I couldn't renew my license because everything I own has my mailing address, a post office box, and not a street address. Once home, I found some things with my street address on it so now I have to go back to that creepy place where all the weirdos in the city hang out because they have NO address...but I digress...); a really old package of gum, a bottle of Advil and another of Tylenol; six pens (I wondered where they all disappeared to); a folded tissue (I learned after my episode at Whole Foods when there was no toilet paper in the ladies room and it was, well, at a critical moment); more pennies than the Department of Treasury has had in a long while; a lipstick in a shade that I never wear; a small pocket knife that I fondly call my "leathergirl"; the truck keys and, last but not least, one of my many pairs of reading glasses.

I think my purse weighs about six pounds. In the wallet, whose contents I did not describe, is several pounds of loose change. When my purse gets too heavy to lift, I empty out the change for the grandkids piggy banks. I've been doing this for years and by the time they're ready for college all that money will probably buy them a textbook.

I almost always carry my purse in my left hand, freeing up my right hand to do whatever it is that right hands do throughout the day. Carrying six pounds day in and day out probably explains why my left arm is about three inches longer than my right and why my chiropractor bills are so high. Hey, it's all valuable stuff that I can't possibly part with. Wel, maybe I could toss the song lyrics.

Learn more about this author, Linda Batey.
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