A Vessel of Consternation
To the majority of males, a woman’s purse is an enigma. It's as mysterious as the wherabouts of the Holy Grail. As curious as the reason Donald Trump still wears his hair that way.
Want to see a grown man get weak in the knees? Let his wife or girlfriend say, “Look in my purse.” Male thought patterns become scrambled hearing these words. For a few seconds he’s like Jell-O right before it sets up. The smart man will back off and say, “Forget it.” Nothing is so important that he need stick his bare hands into the equivalent of the River Styx. No sir. Put out the fire and call in the dogs. This hunt is over.
I picture women, quietly giggling in disbelief and rolling their eyes thinking, “But why?”
Men like simple things such as the wallet. In the wallet you’ve got the compartment for folding money. Slots where you stash your driver’s license and credit cards. Lastly there’s the plastic see-through accordion for pictures of the kids and the one of you in the two-piece from years ago.
Yeah, we still carry it.
Every woman is currently making a mental note to thoroughly search her man’s wallet to find and destroy this picture. After that catharsis, there might be a heated sermon from her along with some laying on of hands. Most assuredly, it won't be for healing.
A purse, on the other hand, is akin to two or three carnival fun-houses, grafted together, with twisting halls and multiple mirrors. It has compartments within compartments. It’s a behavioral modification maze for the male. No matter how many times we run up and down its corridors, we’re never going to find the cheese.
It is the epitome of, “A place for everything and everything in its place.” No matter how a man concentrates on the arrangement of items inside this magic kingdom, if he upsets the fragile ecosystem, he’ll never be able to restore it to its undefiled state.
Other women know exactly how to navigate in each other’s purse. It’s an innate ability. One female can tell another, “Go look in my purse and bring me my lip gloss. Not the hot, wet-looking one but the wholesome-mommy one.” She will ram her hand into its depths and come out with the right lip gloss in less than four seconds. A man on the other hand would fish for a while. Next he would open it wide and peer down into it as if he could see the desired object. Finally he would wind up taking every single thing out, and still not be able to find it. It’s that hidden compartment thing. There’s no other explanation.
It’s all an illusion for men. We see the purse as a bag, slightly larger than a biker’s wallet on up to almost brief case size. Yet in feminine reality they are bound to be the size of a walk-in closet. How else can you explain how a woman can go to the restroom and return wearing a totally different outfit?
It was a challenge to our fathers and grandfathers. It still remains so. The mystery of the purse versus the ineptitude of the man when confronted with it. We’d sooner jam our hands into a pail full of dirty diapers than be asked to dig around in a purse. Either way, it’s going to raise a big stink.
You can wash off anything acquired from a diaper pail but you can never wash away the failure of being unable to fetch from a purse what was asked of you.
© 2006 Michael Wicinski
Want to see a grown man get weak in the knees? Let his wife or girlfriend say, “Look in my purse.” Male thought patterns become scrambled hearing these words. For a few seconds he’s like Jell-O right before it sets up. The smart man will back off and say, “Forget it.” Nothing is so important that he need stick his bare hands into the equivalent of the River Styx. No sir. Put out the fire and call in the dogs. This hunt is over.
I picture women, quietly giggling in disbelief and rolling their eyes thinking, “But why?”
Men like simple things such as the wallet. In the wallet you’ve got the compartment for folding money. Slots where you stash your driver’s license and credit cards. Lastly there’s the plastic see-through accordion for pictures of the kids and the one of you in the two-piece from years ago.
Yeah, we still carry it.
Every woman is currently making a mental note to thoroughly search her man’s wallet to find and destroy this picture. After that catharsis, there might be a heated sermon from her along with some laying on of hands. Most assuredly, it won't be for healing.
A purse, on the other hand, is akin to two or three carnival fun-houses, grafted together, with twisting halls and multiple mirrors. It has compartments within compartments. It’s a behavioral modification maze for the male. No matter how many times we run up and down its corridors, we’re never going to find the cheese.
It is the epitome of, “A place for everything and everything in its place.” No matter how a man concentrates on the arrangement of items inside this magic kingdom, if he upsets the fragile ecosystem, he’ll never be able to restore it to its undefiled state.
Other women know exactly how to navigate in each other’s purse. It’s an innate ability. One female can tell another, “Go look in my purse and bring me my lip gloss. Not the hot, wet-looking one but the wholesome-mommy one.” She will ram her hand into its depths and come out with the right lip gloss in less than four seconds. A man on the other hand would fish for a while. Next he would open it wide and peer down into it as if he could see the desired object. Finally he would wind up taking every single thing out, and still not be able to find it. It’s that hidden compartment thing. There’s no other explanation.
It’s all an illusion for men. We see the purse as a bag, slightly larger than a biker’s wallet on up to almost brief case size. Yet in feminine reality they are bound to be the size of a walk-in closet. How else can you explain how a woman can go to the restroom and return wearing a totally different outfit?
It was a challenge to our fathers and grandfathers. It still remains so. The mystery of the purse versus the ineptitude of the man when confronted with it. We’d sooner jam our hands into a pail full of dirty diapers than be asked to dig around in a purse. Either way, it’s going to raise a big stink.
You can wash off anything acquired from a diaper pail but you can never wash away the failure of being unable to fetch from a purse what was asked of you.
© 2006 Michael Wicinski
posted by Michael Wicinski at 8:18 PM
1 Comments:
Hmmm, I was indeed wondering what that was all about, and now I know. I see now that I have made a mistake in carrying a wallet (inside my purse) in which to hold my cash. My husband never has a problem finding, and pilfering fromt that. From now on, I shall put my cash in a hidden purse compartment. Thanks! You're a pal. [grin]
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