Wednesday, September 13, 2006

The Death of a Handbag

I live in the middle of nowhere. You can't see my house from the road. So I frequently leave my purse in the money in it anyway. Lest you think that a good economic future for you lies in the tracking down of my house and theft of my purse, let me be the first to warn you.

You don't want it.

Oh I don't care if you take it, though if you could leave my wallet with my license in it I would be delighted. But you don't want it. Trust me on this.

See, last week I stopped off at McDonalds for coffee while dropping my husband off at his vanpool. I threw the creamers into my purse so they wouldn't roll around on the floorboard of the car and get lost. After all, that would be BAD for the aroma of the van, which frankly doesn't need any help in that department, with four kids. My youngest has stashed a few sippy cups that are making what probably is a fine cheese product though I will never know.

Well I forgot about the creamers in the mad dash to get the kids ready for school. At first I knew they were there but I had to ignore them because I had to get the girls dressed and brushed and out the door, then later it rained. I put milk from home in my coffee. Well, I guess when the sun came out the van heated up and caused the creamers to "splode". All of the contets of my purse are now coated with a thick cheesy and most heinous smelling substance.

So you can have it. I don't want it anymore. But I know you don't want it.

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