Bag o’ holding

When I was little, my mother carried a reasonably-sized purse.  The strange thing was that no matter what I wanted or needed, she was able to pull it out of her purse.

Cold?  Here’s a scarf.

Need hand lotion?  Need breath mints?  Indigestion? Headache?  Bandaid?  Hungry? Thirsty? Need to sew something?

Somehow it was all in her purse.

For a long time I carried no purse at all.  In college it was nothing but keys attached to a card-holder, which I stuck somewhere (often lost) inside of a nondescript backpack.  Then came a series of bags that have gradually increased in size until they hit diaper-bag proportions when my kid was born.

This morning at work, the guy next to me leaned into my cube and said, “Do you happen to have a small screwdriver and screws so that I can fix my glasses?”

“Why yes,” I said, and pulled a little kit out of my purse.

Suddenly I realized that I’m all grown up.

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