I’ve entered my cringe era. By this I mean I’ve discovered I’m doing a lot of things that are now considered cringe.
How do I know this? Because my children are vigorously informing me that I’m “cringe.”
Recently via my daughter, I discovered that my latest cringe crime is my handbag. Apparently, the purse I use is “too big.” I was confused by this because it’s not like I’m carrying a bag the size of Mary Poppins’ satchel.
My purse is what I would call normal size. It can comfortably hold a full-size wallet, a cosmetics bag that also functions as a first aid kit, a phone and glasses.
Oh, and also floss, straws, a hairbrush, lip balm and two kinds of hand cleansers (an antibacterial spritzer and a lovely lavender scented gel) that don’t fit in the cosmetic bag because, well, Band-Aids (small, medium and a couple of those extra-large wound patches because you never know when you might get impaled or have the world’s largest blister). Ibuprofen, allergy and diarrhea meds may also be taking up some valuable purse real estate.
I blame years of parenting for the contents of my handbag. Once you become a mom, your purse does double duty as an emergency triage kit, a snack repository and an ATM.
It almost seems like parental negligence not to carry a purse that is prepared for every situation imaginable. But now that my handbag is just for me, I thought that maybe it was time to liberate it from the detritus of child rearing.
After all, my children are grown adults and I really can’t foresee a situation where I would need to whip out an advanced healing hydrocolloid adhesive wound patch. This epiphany led me on a Goldilocks-esque journey to find a handbag that was just right.
At first I looked at the purse all the cool kids were wearing. It’s basically a fanny pack that goes over your chest. If it were made of Kevlar it would be boob armor.
I had so many issues with this “purse.” First, I was a little indignant that the fanny pack, a staple of the ’80s (I loved mine) that was then relentlessly mocked for years was now high fashion. All due to the fact that the bag was now worn across your chest and not your waist.
Another problem was that the “pack” was small. It wasn’t even long enough to hold my collection of straws, never mind a hairbrush. Due to these issues and the fact that it felt weird to have a purse perched right on my chest, this was a solid no.
Next up I looked at pochettes, mini bags and something called an “easy access crossbody.” All of these were made for younger people who can get away with only carrying a phone and a credit card. Meanwhile, I’ve entered the extra strength Tylenol and tweezers stage of life.
If you’re now thinking why tweezers? Please, have you ever looked in your car rearview mirror while the sun is shining in through your windshield and not seen some frightening facial hair remediation that needs to happen stat?
The good news is I finally found a handbag that fits my new ethos: small but mighty. Yes, I’ve had to downsize my purse contents. But I’ve relocated some of the previous inhabitants to a “car bag” that contains what I’m calling secondary essentials, like wound patches. But never fear: Those tweezers and Tylenol made the cut to the new purse.
Reach Sherry Kuehl at snarkyinthesuburbs@gmail.com, on Facebook at Snarky in the Suburbs, on Twitter at @snarkynsuburbs on Instagram @snarky.in.the.suburbs, and snarkyinthesuburbs.com.
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