I like having a purse; it makes me feel like a professional adult, and it means not worrying about how much stuff I have and whether or not my chapstick is melted. Having to carry a twenty dollar bill wrapped around a credit card and my driver’s license, with my car and house keys in the other pocket? I had to put up with that when I worked at Disneyland; along with cute shoes and clothes I pick for myself, a purse very firmly says “You’re not in Critter Country anymore.”
Now, mind, I have the smallest purse I could buy, and when I got a cell phone again I had to pick three or four things to ditch, and I don’t use any cards to pay for anything. “Your mileage may vary” is a beautiful phrase.





