Handbag Hassles

I've decided it's easier to make a new friend than to make friends with a new bag. I actually own the perfect handbag. The number, size and position of the outside pockets, with and without zippers, is perfect. I am able to grab all the things I need on short notice without looking. The overall shape lets me carry a trade-size paperback and any number of small items that I gather during the day. Inside there is a separate section filled with the emergency stuff that I need to carry, but almost never use--spare knee-hi, emery board, band aid. And there's a larger space for my wallet and phone and whatever else I need, but don't want the outside world to see. Perfect. But I've used this bag non-stop for two years, and after two years even perfect loses its charm. Before I knew I needed it, I'd picked up a new bag off a sale table. It had the same general dimensions, although without the same pockets. It was a pretty sea green and very light-weight. I was sure I could make it work. Twice I tried and gave up. Finally, I forced myself to use it for a week. The fact that I use the phrase "forced myself" pretty much tells the story. There was an oddly deep pocket on the side of the bag, and I started dropping my change in there. That worked okay. Then I added ¬¬my keys to that pocket, and every time I pulled the keys out, they were accompanied by a spray of coins. I constantly rearranged items, looking for that balance of form and function that would bring me peace. The worst part was that the material that made it so light had absolutely no body, so when I unzipped it, it instantly became a puddle of fabric that I had to paw through to find anything. By the middle of the third day I wanted to sit down on the floor and cry. Right at the Costco checkout. No question about it--I hated that bag with every fiber of my being. My problem then was that I was leaving for vacation in three days. A sane person would have resurrected the old bag, but I decided I'd make myself even crazier during this already over-crowded time by going shopping. Starting at a store where I often admired the selection of handbags, I scrutinized every bag that caught my eye. Unfortunately, most of those were electric orange. I actually love the color, but it wouldn't work with my current wardrobe. Then I found a possibility, although quite different from my usual. But as I went down the list of what I carry and where it could go, I was pretty sure everything would find a home. And it was royal blue. I loved it. I think. The last issue was buying it. It wasn't on sale. You'd probably laugh at what I consider expensive--my daughters certainly do. I'm only happy with my purchases if they are on sale, preferably a second or third markdown. But I had no choice in this case. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and paid for it. When I got home I had 15 minutes to get ready for a dinner date. I stared at the bag for ten of those minutes, knowing that once I took the tags off and used it, I couldn't return it. Buyer at the edge of remorse, I think it's called. I cut the tags, stuffed in all my stuff and ran out. We are going through an adjustment period, my bag and I. It has two large zippered sections with an open space between them. One side has all the odds and ends. Trouble was that every time I pulled out my hairbrush, a knee-hi was dangling from it. I put my phone in the perfectly sized little slot in the middle section, but it hit the floor every time the purse tipped. (Or possibly when I tipped, which I do embarrassingly often.) A small zippered case took care of the first problem, and putting the phone in with my wallet fixed the second. The last hurdle was my keys. I should probably start by telling you that I seriously panic at the merest thought that I might have misplaced my keys. This, even though I carry a spare set. It was obvious that they wouldn't be safe in the open middle section, and they weren't, which I can tell you because of course, I had to try it once. Okay, twice. That left the zippered section. I thought that would be foolproof, but my keys are no fools. One time I left the zipper slightly open and the stretchy, curly-Q key ring I use had pushed out of the small opening. So I tried tucking them under my wallet, and when I went to pay, they were on top of the wallet and nearly tumbled out. I was afraid that the next time I opened the zipper, the keys would spring out, propelled by that Slinky-type band. Clearly, they wanted their freedom. I tricked them by buying a color-coordinated clasp that I use to hook them to the base of the shoulder strap. They have the illusion of freedom; I have the assurance that they are within my grasp. I think this bag and I are going to be friends.