by Patti
Is there anything more inconvenient than fishing something
out of your purse, only to find that is smothered in YOGURT?
That is what happened to me the other morning. I was dropping
S off at the bus stop, and as she was about to get out the car, I shoved my
hand in my bag to pull out my cell phone, and discovered that an entire
container of Yoplait Strawberry Delight had exploded in my purse. So not
delightful.
Why did I have a container of yogurt in my purse? Ask my
anal husband, who cannot stand even a spare scrap of AIR to be loose in the
house. Sure, he can collect totally useless things like vintage swords and
old-timey radios, but keep a useful plastic bag in the house? NEVER. So
instead, this morning as I rushed out the door in my usual rush-out-the-door
way, I had to shove my entire LUNCH in my PURSE.
So here I was, my entire lunch now drowning in Strawberry
Delight. As was also my cell phone, my hairbrush, my makeup bag, my fluffy
powder brush, my unpaid bill, my suede change purse, my wallet, my glasses….
Poor S knew the tidal wave of cuss words that was about to pour out my mouth, so she feverishly started hunting the car for napkins. Of course, I had precisely one. One napkin. One napkin to clean up gallons of Strawberry Delight. The bus pulled up, and S, relieved to escape the wrath of my yogurt-covered rage, quickly pecked my cheek, leapt out of the car, and rushed to the safety of the bus. Instead of going to work, I drove back home with yogurt all over myself and my things and my car, and went back inside to commence Project Clean-Up This-Crap 2011. I used almost an entire roll of paper towels. After I emptied my purse, I turned it inside out and literally ran it under the kitchen faucet and wrung it out. Then, the clock taunting me because I was going to be late to work, I hastily shoved everything back into my purse. When I got to work, I once again emptied it out, and put my now soaking-wet stuff on a mound of paper towels on my desk. There were are all my things, wet and shiny, laid out like dead fish on my desk. I then turned my purse inside out, and ever-so-klassily placed it on my desk to dry, too.
Throughout the day, I told everybody about the purse
incident, and I was amazed to find out that 99% of husbands do not ever throw anything
away, ever. In fact, my co-worker Kristin said that her husband not only saves
every plastic bag that comes across his path, he even saves the ones with holes
in them, which means there are lunches falling out of bags instead of yogurts exploding
in purses at her house. Cathy told me she has enough plastic bags shoved under
her kitchen sink to save not only her family in a nuclear war, but mine as well,
and probably everybody in Chicago. My cousin declared I was lucky that I have a
husband who throws out things, since apparently most husbands are hoarders. But
the general consensus was that, yes, this whole incident was clearly my husband’s
fault, and that he should buy me a new purse.
I told him this last night, knowing quite well there will be
no new purse. Instead, he’ll hand me a plastic bag and say, “Here’s your new
purse.”
