Purse-a-nel Privacy

Bad pun. Sue me. So I’m just wondering if this is an only child syndrome thing, or if it is universal? Why is it that men have this phobia about purses? Not just carrying the purse – that’s a given. Unless your man is out of the closet, there aren’t too many “he-men” who are going to be carrying that purse… unless they are standing outside the dressing room talking to you in a very loud voice the whole time. “Hey, honey…how’s that one fitting? I’m just gonna stand here and hold your purse for you, ‘kay?” Or the baby bag is on one arm, your purse is on the other, and it is obvious that he is the sperm donor that put that bundle of joy in your arms. (We won’t even get into the “empty seat” at the movie theater whenever two same-sex heteros go together. Silly? Oh, you better believe it.)

No, I’m talking about the “Would you grab the keys out of my purse” kind of phobia.

“What? Me? Touch that? You want me to stick my fingers in it’s mouth? Won’t it bite?”

No, hon. It’s been declawed and de-fanged (what is that called?). I even had a hysterectomy years ago, so it isn’t as though there are special “aunt flo” products scattered throughout. Nope. I don’t even stuff used tissue back into it. Never. Ever. If I ever did, it would be his anyway.

I have no qualms about getting in his billfold. Not that I make it a habit, but if he says, help yourself to a couple a bucks, why, I’ll do it. No going to the current area of the house where said billfold may be hiding, picking it up with two very shy fingers (that will probably be scrubbed within an inch of their lives later), and a shuffling it carefully to the owner to let him remove said dollars from the fold. Nope. Uh-uh. I’ll just whip it out and put it back. (I would like to set the record straight for those of you getting ready to jump in here with a smart-ass remark. I do NOT go into his billfold willy-nilly. I ask first. I get permission first…. and rarely am I getting money out of his billfold unless he’s said, “I’ll give you $5 if you keep doing that”. Get your mind out of the gutter. He’s usually teasing and we’re probably talking about scratching his back. Sheesh!)

I’ve tried to analyze it. Yes, it’s what I do. Is it a midwest thing? I don’t get out of the midwest much, and I’ve heard rumors that California has those “man purses”, so I’m not sure they’re qualified to play. But…I’ve seen other men do it when I’ve been around them and their wives… Maybe… is this a married man thing? I’m trying to think, but I believe I’ve also seen this behavior in un-married men. Is it a respect thing? … Hmmmm… no, I don’t really think that’s it. I mean, are we less respectful of our men’s possessions than they are of ours? I don’t think so.

Were they told as a young child to “stay out of mommy’s purse”… and it stuck? The one behaviour that held out through childhood and into adulthood? You’d think the one about putting the seat down would hold more water…

Maybe they got clubbed with a purse when they were in school and girls first had need for purses and discovered they could be a pretty good weapon when that kid behind you felt the need to play with your hair. Perhaps it was later, in high school, when girls did start carrying those “special items” for those “special days”… (yes, girls, don’t we all feel special?) when the boys accidently caught a glimpse of one of those (wouldn’t that be a cool thing to shoot out of the potato gun?) and found out later with much humiliation that maybe it wasn’t such a cool thing. Perhaps that was the lesson that stuck.

Whatever it is, I’d like to think it isn’t because that’s where he thinks we’re hiding the voodoo doll or the really good drugs or the knife (that time of the month – see earlier post). No, I’d like to think it’s because there is a little boy in every man that just can’t seem to get past that it’s a “girl thing”. You know… cooties…

At What Point…

…did I turn over in bed, look at the clock… say, oh…it’s only 4:45… and go back to sleep until 7:00? Yes, I was late to work this morning. Good thing I don’t have to punch a time-clock! Damn, that bed felt good.

(Yes, I was up with the puppies… at 3:45. Plenty of time to fall back into snooze-land.)