On a recent weekend the Hero and I set off on a walking adventure. Because my idea of adventure is rather limited—and hygienic—the walk took place very near our home. We thought that maybe we would chance upon a small clearing in the woods—a very hygienic clearing, of course—in which we could rest and read, and the Hero could resurrect his interest in sketching, so we packed a few extra supplies. The Hero grabbed a backpack and slipped in a book for each of us, his sketchbook, a pencil, and a few snacks. There was still plenty of room in the backpack.
"It's too bad we don't have a smaller type of bag to take..." He trailed off and looked at me, stricken. "I'm describing a purse," he said, realization dawning. "I want a purse." He shook his head. "It's the beginning of the end."
Long ago my nephew crusaded—at least in private, to me and to his sister—for male purses. Had he pursued this openly, who knows but that the fight would have been taken up by millions of men for whom pockets are not sufficient, and backpacks superfluous. They would have been firmly supported by wives everywhere who are weary of being asked to put their husbands' belongings in their own purses: "But you have that huge purse. My wallet and keys and the Home Depot receipt for the light bulb won't take up any room at all...oh, and the light bulb will fit too, right?"
Of course, male purses would come at perhaps a small price for wives. Their men would have a perfect excuse to not hold the ladies' handbags when shopping. "But I'm holding my own purse. I can't hold yours too."
We set off on our walk, the too-big backpack slung over the Hero's shoulder. He didn't complain. I looked for signs of wistfulness, but he seemed happily resigned to his purseless fate. Good. Now I don't have to worry about losing my repository for snacks and beverages.
