Having five sisters does present some additional hurdles in life; more long distance phone calls, extra company on the weekends, and a myriad of relationship triangles, however, you do have access to more advice than someone from a family with the national average of only 1.3 children. So, I had plenty of help when I finally decided to buy a new pocketbook.

I had had it with the breezy, open style with no pockets, snaps or zippers. Every attempt to retrieve something was like a “feely” box game from first grade. The classy black leather, narrower-at-the-top style was even worse. I was the monkey grasping the banana bait deep down in the trap jar. Once I grabbed a hold of what I wanted, I just couldn’t get it up through the opening. Yes, it was definitely time for a new pocketbook.

Not a purse. A purse is much too small. Sister number five, who is tall, willowy and took modeling lessons when she was young carries a purse, a tiny affair on a long cord. My mother who has moved on to a fanny pack to match each pair of shoes insists, after all her years of experience, that smaller is better for the back and neck over the long haul of life. She is certain that everything from being hunchback to having muscle spasms is caused by carrying those heavy plastic shopping bags swinging from each arm for “all those years”. However, I could tell that the smaller scale was all wrong for me when I carelessly slung sister number five’s purse over my shoulder and it looked like Barbie’s gold evening bag. And I didn’t even give a moment’s consideration to the clutch purse suggested by sister number one. The thought of my entire financial DNA imprinted on those plastic cards stacked neatly inside a purse without any handle was too frightening to contemplate.

Sister number two solicitously took me under her wing. She had been where I was now and knew what to do. As I followed her purposeful step into a local store, I thought wistfully of an avant-garde young woman from my teen years who refused to carry any handbag, preferring the large pockets in her overalls to carry her necessities and I wondered idly. Where she is today. If only I had the courage to be unconventional. Sister number two’s resolute voice brought me back to present. After wrestling with this critical issue for years she definitely advised a large bag; she herself now carries one that can easily accommodate a file folder. Aghast, I inquired whatever for. She fixed a pitying gaze on my incredulous face and proceeded to explain that she needed this wonderful feature when she went to use the library computer for her schoolwork and when she took her children to the doctor’s office.

Nervously, my mind raced to an old friend who grew up in a less privileged country than the United States. She carried a pocketbook the size of an overnight bag and anything left unclaimed on the floor went into that bag all year long until she eventually emptied it onto her dining room table. And what about my girlfriend who now works nights, and thinks she needs a bag large enough to conceal Mace and a handgun as well as the usual items? I could see now that this could get out of hand and there was simply no use blaming the problem on a male dominated society or the evil marketing ploys of capitalist companies. I had to act quickly. I made my moderate selection of a straw pocketbook with a cell phone pocket and we headed out for lunch to celebrate our find.

A few happy months later, I was contentedly registering children for our summer vacation Bible school, my new pocketbook down at my side, when a friend of very slight proportions carrying a handbag big enough to hold all the records from the state department of transportation, moved off to the side of the registration table and began rummaging distractedly through her bag. After a few minutes of frantic searching she looked up despairingly and announced, “It’s not in here.” So it is true. There simply is no limit to the possible size of a woman’s handbag except maybe the amount of weight she can bench press.