My Dad used to call my mother’s handbag The Warehouse. I grew up certain that entire episodes of Mission: Impossible and MacGyver could be filmed using the contents of my mother’s purse.
Mine is nowhere near so capacious or fun, but I do have a few tricks in my bag. Nothing sharp, after forgetting The Rules and having my wonderful Swiss Army knife taken away at the airport. Sigh. No bottles with more than 100 ml of liquid, ditto. Luckily, my favourite hand lotions come in small vessels, and it’s a delicious luxury to have that fragrance on hand. What mother’s bag is complete without first aid? I’ve got a complete wee kit. Hockey arena stubs, naturally. I have more lip gloss than I can use in a lifetime; three travel with me. The keys to my Dad’s condo, on a key ring from Egypt, where we lived once upon a time. A picture of my kids in my wallet, because apparently wallets more often get returned if lost when there’s a picture of kids inside. Love notes from the kids. Sticky notes, because you never know when you might have a page-flagging emergency. A book; always a book. Today, it’s Cold Comfort Farm, because Samantha Ellis made me want to reread it. A deck of cards for hurry up and wait rooms. And, pen addict that I am, I travel with several choices of pens and ink.
OK, I’m totally kidding about the ink wells, ink pot and and quills! But that pencil case is full of pens.