Life Mate’s purse often feels heavy enough to be able to provide for an overnight stay, two road trip meals or anything else of similar volume.
At any given time, her purse contains a coin purse, a checkbook, a wallet, car keys, house keys, manicure items (scissors, file, emery board, polish), perfume-cologne, address book, cell phone, tissues, comb and I don’t know what all. And, being the literate Sweet Thang that she is, there might be an iPad complete with novels tucked in there as well, not to mention a handy little camera.
However, as I have acknowledged to her: “You ain’t got nothin’ on me, darlin’.” When you consider the contents that fill a woman’s purse, analyze everything in a man’s pockets plus, nowadays in particular, whatever devices are clipped onto a belt, then analyze the two collections, men just might have the edge in number of items as well as weight of such boogeying-about necessities.
None of this is written or said with a goofy, good ol’ boy grin, because I’m not poking fun at women’s purses, especially not Life Mate’s handbags.
And, the reason is that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t hurl rocks. In other words, the “stuff” (men are experts on that subject) in my pockets would move me up a notch in boxing’s weight classification — from heavyweight to super-heavyweight.
Like my ol’ cowboy daddy, I prefer the twopocket style shirt. His entire business filing system was contained in his shirt. That enabled him to be a moving cow-binniss tycoon 24 hours a day and be hands-free as much as was needed to navigate. Of course, I eschewed the “ol’ cow binniss” as he would label it, because I hated everything a cow could and did do to me: step on my foot, lacerate my shin with hoof, butt me, gore (almost) me, buck me off (just once), and chase me out of a pasture.
So, I chose writingnewspapering as a career for two reasons: 1) I love it, and 2) I hated the ol’ cow binniss even more than I love the writing binniss.
But, I found that I went about keeping the “tools” of the writing binniss and that necessitated four or five jean pockets, two-pocket shirts and/ or a jacket-coat with lots of pockets, all containing some necessity.
A skin allergy prevents most wrist watches, so that makes a pocket watch necessary. Like most jean-clad Texans, I keep a handkerchief, a wallet, car keys, house keys, office keys, pocket knife, nail clippers, coins, occasionally a comb and, o f course, the writing tools themselves: a couple of pens and a note pad.
Then I carry a case with my cell phone clipped onto my belt (western with all kinds of metal adornments), plus an eye-glass case, with spare glasses, that clips on.
With all that metal in my pockets plus a hip replacement with a solid steel shaft into my femur, I’m a real stitch in airports. I’ve been stripsearched. Aggravating and plumb invasive is what it is. One guard added insult to injury by laughing during that invasion of my privacy. I almost called him what he is but discretion topped valor in this case, because I didn’t want to be handcuffed and hustled off to jail.
Women’s purses are just placed on a conveyor belt and scoped as they pass through, revealing the contents. But, those guards just have to search men.
I’d suggest we carry “bags” or valises-attache cases, but that never has caught on real well with us country boys who are usually not the “important business executive” type at all.
So, pockets it is, strip search indignities and all.
WILLIS WEBB is a retired community newspaper publisher of more than 55 years experience. He can be reached by email at firstname.lastname@example.org.