I am unable to go to work without carrying two large bags, one containing several outfits for the gym (often without socks, though), shoes, half-filled bottles of old prescriptions (in case of emergency), reusable canvas sacks for grocery shopping, and umbrellas, the other containing books (all of the books I used in my Arabic class, plus one or two that I am currently reading for fun – like Decisive Moments in History by Stefan Zweig, a book Faruq commanded me to read), two (now-broken) cameras, more prescription drugs, hand sanitizer, a bottle of sweetened iced tea, and sometimes also my laptop computer with some DVDs. This is just to go to work, not for a weekend vacation trip. Also, I live 10 minutes on foot from my job.
Me ten years ago, recounting my discovery of an handbag sitting there on the sidewalk.
Rather, the handbag, the quintessential Platonic ideal of a handbag, big and pink and vinyl, with black straps and accents and taupe satiny insides and enough pockets for Mrs. Peel to store her beauty case with compact and hairbrush, GPS receiver, cellphone, traveler’s mah-jongg ensemble, lorgnette, spare nylons, snakebite kit, chewable B complex, Yahoo!® Visa® card, Sélection du Reader’s Digest, honeydripper, citrus zester, lotion corporel White Musk®, rosary, Filofax®, Vatican postage stamps, additional FedEx waybill, portable abacus, skate key, potpourri sachet, zarf, IUD, trail mix, lemon Perrier®, SX-70, talc, needle-nose pliers, Montblanc with peacock-blue ink, calling cards, Les parapluies de Cherbourg DVD, and shuriken.