Why My Spouse And I No Longer Have The Handbag Debate
Because I nailed it with a decisive blow over a quarter of a century ago
Only the other day, I watched a couple walking across a car park. Their expressions, body language and even the staccato way he jerked the shopping trolley over minor obstructions, denoted fierce debate. I caught enough of the dialogue to know the focus was the bag swinging from her shoulder.
I smiled. The handbag debate.
As an aside: that would be ‘purse debate’ in the USA. I didn’t know purse meant handbag until I was in my 40s — and goodness me, didn’t that cause some confusion when changing planes at JFK. However, that’s another story.
In my experience, this is a man-woman thing, but I’ve not done the research to back that up, and it might just be a factor of whoever in the relationship has the fullest handbag. For us, it used to go like this:
Step 1 — The rummage: I would be looking for something that my spouse had an interest in — perhaps the house keys so we could get in out of the rain — and I wouldn’t immediately be able to find them (it’s a handbag/purse thing, it happens).
Step 2 — The search: I would find a flat surface and start to lay out the handbag’s contents in order to get a clearer view of the interior.
Step 3 — Getting the debate underway: A series of exasperated huffs from the spouse would become comments rising in irritation and volume.
What have you got that in there for? Why did you bring that? Why didn’t you leave those at home? If you’re going to do it, do it properly. Give it here.
Step 4 — A declaration of war: The handbag would be snatched from my grasp and upended on the flat surface. Have you any idea how many things in a handbag can roll or bounce (lipstick, loose coins, tampons, ping-pong balls…) or how many don’t do well out in the rain (tissues, books, soft toys, underwear, cake…)? And anyway, no one touches my handbag without my say-so.
The debate would ebb and flare for the rest of the day.
Then we fell foul of 1980s estate agent and building society (realtor and savings & loan association) dilatoriness and mind-blowing inefficiency, and things took a decisive turn. In brief, we changed jobs and moved north.
We found a house and made an offer to buy. Our offer was accepted. There was no chain. The house we were moving to had lain empty for two years. There was nothing to prevent a quick sale. Nothing, that is, but mind-blowing inefficiency. And oh my, was it mind-blowing! It took them months to shuffle the various bits of paper about. In fact, it took so long that our youngest son missed the start of school. Then my new job started. There wasn’t an option to miss that. We had to borrow a tiny caravan and camp out in a field.
We arrived late one night to set up temporary home, got the caravan parked, partly stabilised and hooked up to its gas supply. We’d been warned not to risk it without the extra stabilising of the awning, which we then tried to erect. There were no tent pegs, not a single one.
The wind was already getting up and it started to rain. There were no hotels, B&Bs or shops within reach, and we were contemplating a cold damp night crammed in the car, when I had a thought:
Would 6-inch nails work?
The spouse gave me a this-is-no-time-for-levity look.
Why? Have you got any?
That was my cue for a smug smile, a quick rummage in my handbag, and several such were unearthed. The awning went up and the caravan stayed standing (even through the Great Storm of 1987 but that, too, is another story).
I left the field a decisive victor in the handbag debate and have never since allowed the tiniest hint of criticism of what I choose to carry about with me.
If you’re curious about the whys and wherefores of handbag/purse contents, Nancy Parish explains:
