And here's a "list" essay from Lara she was working on last week:
The Contents of my Purse
I have a red sparkly vinyl purse everyone comments on. Most people comment on its resemblance to Dorothy’s
slippers, but that’s not why I bought it.
To me it looks just like a red plastic booth in a 1950’s diner, except
with leopard print satin lining. It was
expensive but hasn’t held up well, and at first I tired to fill in the cracks
in the vinyl with red nail polish, but I’ve since given up the endeavor. I
decided the flaws made it look more authentic and hip. It has metal feet, each shaped like half of a
bullet, and they are pointy-sharp and the shoulder strap is just long enough
for the feet to scratch the top of my eldest son’s head if we walk hand in
hand, which we always do.
My purse needs only to contain my sunglasses, wallet and
occasionally my cellphone, if I don’t have adequate pockets that day. It doesn’t need anything else, but it is
often so overflowing that it is hard to snap shut with it’s old fashioned metal
“kiss snap.” It accumulates bits of
forgotten memories, snippets of half-intended dreams and old sticky gum.
Here’s what’s inside, besides my sunglasses and wallet:
Clinique Almost Lipstick in Black Honey, which I first fell
in love with at age eighteen and have recently rediscovered, though I never
remember to put it on before I go or re-apply it while I am out. I keep it in
my purse because I mean to wear it more often.
Chapstick, which I do apply regularly, several kinds of gum
and RedHots. I don’t really like cinnamon candies, but I like how the shapes of
the candies –each with a bite taken out of the corner – mimic the shape of the
container, which was molded to look like something chomped the bottom. They amuse me and sometimes come in handy.
Besides, I got them free from a goody bag one of the children brought home from
a party. The kids don’t mind me having
them; they hate hot things that burn their mouths.
I have a pretty tin of hand crème – Nivea – that smells like
my mother used to when I was a child. She has since changed brands but I can’t
resist buying the round blue tin that smells of love and good things. My hands
are always dry, but I rarely use the cream because if I do my hands will be
greasy on my steering wheel or cell phone’s touch screen. It remains in my purse just in case I need something
to do in a waiting room or boring meeting – neither of which I find myself in
with any regularity.
I have a pen I stole from a fancy hotel and a plastic bottle
of store brand hand sanitizer. I
remember a cousin of a guy I dated once worked for Purell, and promised me all
the free hand sanitizer I wanted. I met
her at a funeral for the boyfriend’s father.
I was sad that the boyfriend and I called it quits before I ever got the
hand sanitizer. I believe the pens in
hotel rooms are allowed to be stolen; I don’t think it’s a crime. This one is from the Waldorf Astoria, and I
keep it in my purse in case anyone ever asks to borrow a pen.
For some unknown reason I have a two-year-old pay stub from
an employer I haven’t worked for in over a year, though my replacement there
still asks me questions via text with some regularity. I don’t know why I haven’t thrown it away.
In the secret zipper pocket I have the things I am
embarrassed for people to see; several tampons of a brand I don’t like but
don’t throw away because they do cost money, and in a feminine hygiene
emergency they will come in handy. I also have a tampon of my current brand. I have another pen, this one just a regular pen
bought in a ten-pack of boring blue pens, and a lighter left over from when I
smoked. It’s orange, my favorite
color. It’s handy to have a lighter, in
case someone else needs one or I decide to smoke again, or for children’s
birthday parties where no one smokes and therefore no one can light the candles
on the cake.
I also have an old single serving foil packet of sexual lubricant,
a free hand out from a gay pride festival I went to years ago. The package is old and starting to split, and
I should take it out of my purse before it leaks all over the pretty satin
leopard print lining of my sparkly purse, but I don’t. I want to be the kind of person who is ready
for some sort of strange sexual escapade without warning, though it has gone
unused for several years now. I am
ready, at any moment, to be more exciting than I am now, to be as exiting as I
used to be. I keep it hidden away in the
secret zipper pocket so my sons don’t ask what it is for.
I don’t carry this purse much when I have the kids anyway –
the straps are uncomfortable and its feet scratch my oldest child’s head. You only need a purse to carry your wallet
and sunglasses anyway. All the little memories and dreams and sexual escapades
are best left safely at home.
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