It Came from Beneath the Purse!

We women are lost souls without our purses. They go with us everywhere, filled with the stuff of necessity, as well as with unadulterated junk. While we might know what's inside, do we know what's on the outside, especially on the bottom? Nonetheless, off we go with our handsome leathers, vinyls, and cloths, only to set them down in the most disgusting places. Because my husband was constantly annoyed by this awful habit, I decided to investigate the world of my purse.

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My purse is firmly entrenched in the child's seat of a shopping cart, the same seat where some little darling's diaper has probably sprung a messy leak. The cart wranglers at my grocer's confirm this belief, as a few of their faces contort into unholy grimaces. Over in the bakery section, the bottom of a lady's little shoulder dangler sneaks a long lick across fresh frosting in the self-help doughnut case. I'll pass on the doughnuts today.

Back to my car, where I plop my purse atop the console. You know – that place where we stash our coffees, cappuccinos, soft drinks, and occasional burger and fries. I pull in to what appears to be a sparkling clean gas station, and I gas up the car, and quickly use the restroom. With no hanger on the door, my purse waits on the bathroom floor, absorbing a wealth of germs that surely linger there. Back it goes onto my console.

I head off to one of the nicest hotel restaurants in town to enjoy a few hours of dining and chatter with friends. I promptly set Miss Purse on the floor. My friend places her oversized bag on top of her silverware while she discards her coat. Later, before the dessert cart arrives, we pick up our purses from the floor, and set them atop the table while we retrieve the latest photos of our grandchildren.

I return home after a lovely day, and right off the bat my purse hits the kitchen counter. Not the exact spot where our food is prepared, but close. I now begin thinking of Staphylococcus aureus, salmonella, and even fecal E. coli bacteria. If I've lived this long, I suppose the gook, muck, slime, feculence, and hundred other contaminants that befoul my bag won't do me in. But I'm finding all this a scary revelation.

It occurs to me that if we women thought of our purses as a pair of shoes, we wouldn't think of putting them on tables and counters, or swiping them across fresh vegetables. My purse has sat where individuals before me have walked, spat, coughed, and maybe even urinated or thrown up. Do I really want to bring that home with me?

Call me fussy, persnickety, whatever … but I have started carrying packets of antiseptic wipes in my purse. After washing my hands, I gave the bottom of my purse a good hygienic rub down. As to my own kitchen, although I can relax hoping my counters are healthier, I'm not taking chances. How dare my three kitties even think of jumping up there while I'm gone, but I'll bet they do!

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