Skip to main content

The Diaper Bag


Before my injured shoulder, I carried large purses.  I had everything in them that one would need in an emergency.  Rarely have we been somewhere when someone would not ask if I had ____ and I would whip it out of my purse and impress them with my super powers.
But because of my injured shoulder I cannot carry large, heavy purses anymore.  I have to limit myself to small bags that do not weigh very much.
I kept the other purses but I treat them like a carryon. I have a packed purse that I take with me and leave it in my car when I go someplace.  It has the stuff I used to carry with me everywhere in case of an emergency, but if anyone breaks into my car thinking the big purse has money or valuables, I hope they like stale gum, a toenail clipper, and a half-used chap stick.
 I also carry a small purse but it stays with me.  It has the usual necessities:  keys, wallet, cell phone.  The smaller purses are not big enough for all the things I have to carry but I have no choice.  Any larger and my shoulders rebel. 
Even then I cannot carry the little purses in my hands for long periods of time because my arms tire. Sometimes I need both hands for whatever I am doing, so I have resorted to what I call “the crossing guard” look.  I buy purses with long straps so I can pull the straps over my head and wear the strap across my chest. Not very fashionable but I have no choice. My bone health is more important than my fashion flair.
Here lately my husband has started to hand me stuff to put in my purse. He has handed me his keys, his cell phone, and his wallet.  If we go to a concert, he gives me his ticket, his program, and his reading glasses after he is through with them. I know from experience that these things feel uncomfortable in one’s pants pocket, but I finally asked him the other day if he thinks my purse is a diaper bag

When he answered no, I refused to take his things. He is a big boy and can get his own purse.  
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Happy Breastday to Me!

I gave myself a very special birthday present this year – I had surgery. Before you think it was to increase, decrease, or “lift” something, let me tell you it was not cosmetic (though I could probably use a few nips and tucks at my age; the infinite number of creams I buy OTC are not working their promised magic). About four or five months ago, I discovered a hard lump about the size of a large marble in my left armpit.  I had been feeling small pangs of pain in my left chest for several months, but I figured it was just my turn to dance with heart disease.  Everyone in my immediate family is diabetic and suffers from strokes or heart attacks, so I thought – here we go; my turn. I was going to tell my internist about the pangs during my next visit, so imagine my surprise when I discovered the lump. The Drama Queen in me immediately manifested herself – cancer, I thought.  I have cancer. I searched some more and found that the texture on the left side of my left breast felt diffe
9 comments
Read more

Dating Challenged

I stink at dating – always have.   I sputter.   I hyperventilate.   I fail miserably every time. I blame a pathetically underdeveloped gene that got little use before I married in my early twenties, then atrophied, gathering dust and rust, until I became single again in my fifties.   I decided to use this defect to my advantage when I needed to do some investigative reporting a few years back.   While on a newspaper writing assignment on Boomer-aged dating, I sacrificed my dignity and my vanity for the sake of the story (and I got several). Thank goodness, HoneyBunch saved me from all this when we married.  (He comes up with the best dates.) I’ve decided I will “show you mine if you show me yours.”   I will swap dating horror stories with you, but you have to promise to play along. The trick here is to tell about your worst date in 25 words or less.   You must keep it clean and you cannot name names. Our little contest will run only this week and before my next blogger posting.   Me
8 comments
Read more

Grandma’s Dining Table

Twenty five years ago my first husband and I bought a new home with four bedrooms and three baths, but my favorite part of the house was the enormous room you walked into from the front door. It had no dividing wall but the design was to use half of it as a formal living and the other half as a formal dining. From the beginning I decided to make it into one huge dining room that would catch the eye when everyone walked in through the front door of my home.   My three children were very young, but I envisioned them grown and married. We counted five at the time, but one day we would grow to eight, maybe more if we factored in grandchildren, so I bought a table that sat a family of twelve.  My husband thought it silly to look that far ahead and convinced me to buy only ten chairs. The room looked magnificent – the long, majestic table, the ten chairs, the buffet, a couple of real ficus, and a few other nice pieces of furniture – I was pleased. The table lasted longer than t
6 comments
Read more