The paper chase

I've talked about my inability to throw things out before, and when I talk about 'things', I'm specifically referring to paper. I hoard bill stubs, credit card receipts, random slips of paper with directions and grocery lists and phone numbers written down. And all of this paper -- along with sandwich bags filled with Cheerio crumbs -- is stuffed into the deep recesses of my purse.

The first thing you must know about my purse is that it was purchased about five years ago, when I was carrying around a brick-sized cell phone. These days, my phone is a very slim, back-pocket slippable device, and it gets lost in the cavernous depths of my purse -- especially with all the discard sandwich bags and receipts crushed and smushed into the bottom.

Yesterday, I met a friend for dinner and she was running late, having encountered our city's favorite hobby: construction and re-routing as a result. I thought I tossed my phone back into my purse after getting her call, but later, I couldn't find it. As a result, while waiting for my friend at the restaurant, I started rummaging through my purse and paper started falling everywhere. When I took out the bags of Cheerio crumbs, the mother I was sharing a table said with a nice smile, "Must be nice to get away from the kids for a night, isn't it?" There you have it, people, the naked truth: I carry more Cheerios in my purse than anyone without children has the right to.

I realized that I couldn't possibly empty the contents of my purse on the table, not without a) causing great embarrasment to myself and b) getting thrown out of the restaurant for littering. I really didn't want to get thrown out; it's the one Mexican restaurant in town with vegetarian rice and beans! (Well, aside for the burrito places, but I digress). So I stuffed everything back into my purse and went out to continue searching for my phone. Which I found, in my car, because somehow, in the dark, I had overshot the cavernous depths of my purse and dropped the phone behind the purse. Suffice it to say, I was very relieved and resolved that very night to clean out my purse.

I came home, dumped all the stuff out (well, almost all, because this morning, I found another stash in one of the pockets) and discovered receipts from a couple years ago, receipts from establishments now defunct, receipts with the ink worn off them, cards to various eateries in various cities, and loose change. I also found the Listerment dissolveables that constantly go missing, especially right after going to the pizza place for lunch and chomping down on garlic bread. Since I rarely do anything with receipts, it's amazing I keep them at all. The best invention ever was not only pay-at-the-pump gas stations, but also the fact you can choose whether you want a receipt or not. And now I must go and finish sorting through the newest assortment of receipts I have found.

And on that note, I must go, because I have eggs cooking in the kitchen and making strange noises. That's all I need: eggs exploding all over my paper-covered apartment.