Handbags are dangerous things. I am convinced they are portals to a parallel universe. Things can get lost in a handbag, sometimes for years.
When was the last time you conducted a handbag audit? I perform this exercise every now and then just to remind myself what’s actually in the various receptacles I use to lug my stuff around. This week, I invested in a new handbag and I’m really excited about it. I found it at Oriental City Rivonia while on a mission to rescue that place from the Bermuda Triangle of retail. Have a look:
Finding the perfect handbag has been a futile quest of mine for years. Either they’re too small, or they lack compartments, or they’re vulnerable to pickpockets. I like this one because it’s big enough to hold my laptop, I can hug it close to me, and it’s stylish. Also, it’s not passing itself off as Jimmy Choo or Burberry like some of the other handbags in the store, or the ones they try to sell you at robots, and that’s reassuring.
This is what I’m keeping in my new handbag:
The only things missing are my Vodacom LTE modem (in my office), my handbag-sized tube of Voltaren (missing a lid, now lost somewhere in the Range Rover I used to drive), and my phone (which I’m using to photograph all of this). This is incredibly disciplined for me. Given the size of this handbag, and the fact that stuff is like gas molecules, and expands to fit whatever space you provide for it, I fully expect this thing to end up weighing half a ton.
My chiropractor will be making a fortune out of me next year.