I was digging through my purse in search of an extra phone charger. Because I am the kind of person who carries a phone charger in my purse. Just in case.

So I was digging past water bottles and hastily stashed receipts when I felt something sticky.  This made me nervous.

Just yesterday I found a random, unwrapped peach ring in there. I am embarrassed to admit that I ate it. Unfortunately, my children noticed and wanted peach rings, too, and I actually did not have any to share.  I had eaten the last one. Not even the proverbial “last one,” but actually the last one.

So when I felt sticky, I thought it was a melted peach ring. Without looking to confirm, I started trying to pull the stickiness off of everything it was stuck to: a Ziploc baggie that contained a bottle of Tylenol, a crumpled receipt from Target. Even my charger had stickiness on it. I pulled my hand out. It was covered in ink. An ink pen had exploded inside my purse.

I have never owned a designer handbag, but this was a leather backpack-style bag that I started using when I had gotten tired of carrying a purse on the shoulder that already had a diaper bag attached to it.

So. Yeah. About twelve years or so. I have other bags. Or rather, I should say that I have had other bags in the past. Nice leather bags from different periods of time in my life pre-children. A gorgeous hard-sided, leather bag with a toucan embossed and painted on the side that I picked up in Costa Rica. In 2009.

But my children have taken these bags, not understanding that just because I only carry that scuffed backpack that I am actually attached to my other bags as well, despite the fact that I never use them. (I mean, that is logical, right?)

So I emptied my purse. One item at a time. I found a Ghiradelli square. Milk chocolate and salted caramel. Still in the wrapper.  I could not have been more excited if I had found a $20 bill. Other than that treasure, I found a glasses case, a Band-Aid, three hair ties, a handful of peppermints, my wallet, three half-empty bottles of water, and the phone charger. Also six broken pencils and a used face mask.

I played a game at a gathering once. A bridal shower, I think. You got a point for each item on a list that matched something you had in your purse.  I came in last place in that game. The list had things like lipstick, credit card, scarf, mirror, eyelash curler, safety pin, nail file. (No water bottles.)  After that game, I thought, “OK, this was a good learning experience. Now I know how to be an adult. I definitely need to go buy a nail file and an eyelash curler.”

I never did. So now the contents of my purse are lying on my desk.  I’m debating whether to try to remove the ink from the liner or dig up an old bag from my closet. If there are any left.

I could steal one back from my children. Maybe I’ll just use a pocket until I can buy a new backpack-style leather purse.

If only women’s clothes came with pockets that could fit a wallet, a cell phone, and keys. Also a phone charger, three water bottles, and a handful of peppermints. And three broken pencils.