Not Until You've Walked a Mile in Her Purse...

I have always carried a small purse and I use the pockets in a very efficient, organized manner. Each item has a home where it returns without exception. There is no tossing in of chap stick or breath mints. I don't wad up useless bits of trash and deposit them in a bag I then carry around on my person. Nope.

And I admit I judge people who do this. I watch them open their ginormous bags and dump goodness knows what into the black hole within. Later they can't find their keys or their checkbook and I smugly think, "Well, if you would organize your purse, ladies, this would not be a problem."

Fast forward to this last week. Reagan and I did some heavy errand-running on our own. Now we've gone here and there before but never really place after place with no rest in between. I'm at the Post Office, baby balancing precariously on the counter while I make a valiant attempt at a legible signature on my credit card receipt. Both hands are full as I scurry out of the next customer's way and what do I do? Drop my copy of the receipt and the stamps right into my purse with complete disregard as to where they land.

Wal-Mart Parking lot. Reagan's shoe flies off in some unexplainable attempt at acrobatics and I find it on the ground, pick it up and throw it in my purse so we can keep on moving. Did you read that sentence and really let it soak in? Lisa picked up something FROM THE GROUND (and a parking lot, no less, not clean, natural grass) and then placed it purposely in her bag.

This madness continues all over town.

Admittedly, I can't stand it for long. I come home and immediately clean out my purse because that's just who I am, but on the go, I'm a handbag maniac. I justify this entire exercise in chaos because it's either this or lose my mind deciding which pocket a baby shoe, lip gloss and a hubba can reside in happily.