Aselin

I'm not much of a purse person. (Purseon?) All of my stylish friends have multiple handbags, in multiple colors, styles and labels. I have a purse purchased two years ago at Target. (Pronounced tar-jay) This purse should last me another four years. It replaced a purse that lasted about seven years, and also came from Target. My purse matches none of my shoes. People have asked me what brand my purse is, since usually everyone in the room has a brand name purse. It is so exclusive it doesn't even have a name, but it does have a label inside that says it was inspected by #7. #7 also put a little silica pack inside one of the zipper compartments, just for me. Fortunately it had instructions not to eat it, since I am prone to eat random unidentified things I find.

This week I attended a women's meeting at church that centered around a purse theme. The invitation played on the word 'purse' and stressed you should bring your purse.

I mull over the social ramifications of going into this situation blindly and figure I should look inside my purse, just to make sure there's nothing too scary in there. I confess, my purse is a catch-all for the fringes of my life. I rarely carry it on my arm, choosing instead to set it on the floor so I can fill it with the random bits and pieces I collect in my daily travels - cleaning it out biannually.

Underneath the dead squirrel and the set of keys to unknown locks I found a stash of crap that embarrassed even me. As I dumped the contents on to my desk my own version of the Sesame Street theme "all of these things are not like the others" kept running through my head.

Besides the expected receipts, loose change and food items, I had a broken Christmas ornament in the shape of a Schwinn bicycle. There was a chocolate hazelnut Kosher candy bar, inscribed in Hebrew, I picked up at my favorite Jewish deli. A plastic fork, a mis-matched set of dice, a paint swatch card of my house paint. There was a twenty peso note from my last trip to Mexico. A Cheesecake Factory gift card, library cards, Science center membership cards a packet of Goo for my next distance training run. Alcohol wipes, mouth guard, dental floss, and of course, a shark tooth.

I stared at the menagerie of crap, stunned at what a magnet I seem to be. It was a Jekyl and Hyde sort of moment. My closet is freakishly organized, all my clothing sorted and hung by color and sleeve length. My closet and my purse would not get along.

After consulting my personal Magic Eight ball - otherwise known as my Facebook Status Update - I decided that I should pack up my life, as I really am, and brave the party.

Upon entering the room invitees were supposed to weigh their purses. Fearing that my ridiculous collection of items would break the scale, I was shocked that it weighed only 3.9 lbs. The woman after me weighed 14.8 lbs. I gave her the recommendation for a good chiropractor.

We then settled in to the 'meat' of the evening - the whole reason I came: the game. In my mind I had decided that there was no possible way I could be trumped when comparing the selection of items I had amassed. I pictured myself standing atop a pedestal receiving the "Coolest Collection" trophy, and "Most Interesting Person" sash.

True to the reality of my life, most people do not operate on the same unique mental plane I find myself skating along. Instead of us collectively sharing the contents of our handbags, the emcee called out an item and participants were to run to the front of the room and drop their item in another purse. The first person to accomplish this task would win a candy bar.

Two problems with this scenario: 1. My table was the very farthest table from the front. 2. The incentive of a candy bar seemed pale compared with the trophy I imagined I should win.

The third problem, which was the most disappointing of all, was the list of items they were requesting: lip gloss, needle and thread, keys, car wash receipt, cell phone. B-O-R-I-N-G!!!

I had some of the items - a mad dash to the front of the room with my roll of stamps won me a Twix bar. Yet, as each mundane and benign item was called out, a little of me died inside.

Finally the category created just for me was announced: The Most Unique Item. I grabbed my shark tooth and triumphantly sprinted to the front. (Those of you who know me, know I have a slightly overinflated competitive streak). As I paraded my exfoliated tooth back and forth in front of the podium I swelled with pride. No one could beat a shark tooth. No one.

Except the ladies with the Gas-X and the paint sample wheel. When the emcee announced that we were all winners, I stomped back to my seat, refusing in protest to select from the remaining candy items. Shark tooth deserved its own prize. It represented everything unique and interesting about me. Everyone in the room wanted to sit by the lady with the shark tooth. I mean really, given a choice who would you pick? Shark tooth or Gas-X lady. Sheesh.

I thought so.