Tiny, perfect purse

So, this is a response to Rodwellian's post about the (biggish) purse inserts she has just discovered. I, too, am a handbag addict, but I also experience the same reluctance my BFF expresses when it comes to dumping the contents of one bag into another. Which is why my discovery of SILVER as the colour of choice has been so life-changing: SILVER GOES WITH EVERYTHING, so I never have to change my purse! This does mean that all my pretty bags languish in their cupboard, however. (see photo above)

Another part of my handicap is that I am an inveterate accumulator of crap. If my purse and I had ever had the opportunity to go on Let's Make a Deal, Monty Hall would have been shelling out the dough to me by the handful. "I've got $50 here for anyone who has a chainsaw in her purse!" he'd say. "Step aside, ladies," I'd say, "I've got three different kinds of chainsaws in here. Just give me a minute to find one....." Ask anyone who knows me-- I am forever upside down, with only my feet visible sticking out of the top of my capacious purse, as I rummage for whatever it is I need at any given moment (whatever it is is, of course, NEVER accessible, despite it having been the first thing I have pulled out of my purse the previous 78 times I reached into it....).

I lack the discipline to carry a teeny weeny purse: I've got STUFF. In case there are UNEXPECTED CONTINGENCIES. Like being trapped in an elevator, or whisked off in the TARDIS on the rare occasion when the cosmic screwdriver is on the fritz and the Doctor must turn to me for assistance in saving the planet-- something in my purse could mean the difference between life and death for a whole species and I would hate to have to say to David Tennant --er, the Doctor-- "Oops. I brought my LITTLE purse. Sorry." It's not elegant, it's not chic, it's not sexy, but it's the truth. I am Irma Bombeck reincarnated-- what can I say? In my own defense, however, I urge you to ask yourself this: with whom would you rather be trapped in an elevator(or the TARDIS) for hours, Audrey Hepburn and her tiny, elegant bag or me/Irma and the giant handbag full of all sorts of MacGyver-ready bits and bobs which could very well be used to get you OUT of the elevator/save the planet? Or at least keep you amused/fed while we wait to be rescued...Or, in the case of the TARDIS scenario, while YOU wait to be rescued. Because I'm sticking with the Doctor, thank you very much.

But, for the right handbag, I could change. I could kiss the ridiculously heavy, gargantuan, so-big-I-could-sleep-in-it purse goodbye, and with it, the bursitis in my shoulder, the oh-so-swellegant patch of sweat on my side from where the H&M vinyl comes into contact with my body, the hours of my life spent rummaging fruitlessly for whatever I need at any given moment. I always knew I could do it, if only the right little, streamlined beauty came along and wooed me away from my humungous-tote toting ways.

Which brings me to my latest love: the tiny, perfect, SILVER bag in the photo. I got it in Boston (I cannot stress often enough that THERE IS NO TAX ON CLOTHING IN MASSACHUSSETTS), and have been using it non-stop ever since. It goes with everything (have I mentioned that?) AND it fits easily inside larger bags, making the ol' purse switcheroo eminently do-able, thereby saving my languishing lovelies from handbag purgatory. Everybody wins! Perhaps most importantly, this teeny-tiny, pewter beauty says to the world at large, "I am the sort of girl (ahem) who is unhindered by STUFF; the sort of girl (stop laughing!) who can pick up and go at a moment's notice; the sort of girl (CUT.IT.OUT.) who can save the Doctor, the TARDIS and a whole planet depending on only her wits, spunkiness and derring-do as resources!"

So, off you go, Rodwellian, buy the handbag for your handbag and then, go forth and show off your collection of handsome handbaggery!