Junk in my purse. Not kidding.

Dude, seeeeeeeeriously?

I’m not kidding. I haul this around with me.

 

Maybe if YOU left your house at 6am every day, you’d start hauling around your entire bathroom in your purse, too?

It’s like I have this Murphy’s Law Purse Phobia thing happening. I assume that the day I leave that particular powder brush at HOME, in the bathroom cupboard like a NORMAL person, that will be the day I’ll need to save someone’s life with a powder brush, and I’ll rue ever becoming practical.

I sort of assume that if I don’t have a handful of lipsticks floating around in the bottom of the Back Problem Tote, that I’ll end up in that “Hey, guess what: there’s a Bravo producer out there looking to cast their latest reality show about cute girls in boring office jobs, and they totally want to screen test you” situation, desperately wishing I hadn’t left that “Forever Scarlet” shade by the sink like a normal lady.

AND — if I don’t have two pairs of tweezers in there, I’ll end up with The Splinter of a Lifetime, the surgical extraction of which requires BOTH the LED-illuminated pair AND the super-needle-tipped pair.

It could happen.

But it’s laziness, mostly. I get out of bed, toss on clothes, brush the teeth, hope the hair isn’t too terribly smooshed and slept-on (hint: it absolutely is), and I hit the road. Coffee: more important than mascara in the mornings.

Also: I work in a cubicle where I’m seen by ABSOLUTELY NO ONE for the first ninety minutes of my day — SO: not a hugely tacky thing to decide I’ll use that first twenty minutes to moisturize, mascara-ize, and brow pencilize, right? Right.

How do I find anything in there?

Er, I don’t. Because I have a SECOND purse. A “going out to lunch or running to the store” purse. A small clutch that contains wallet, phone, keys, chapstick. A normal purse. The sort of thing I could get away with if I’d just GET UP TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER and toss on the moisturizer in front of the bathroom mirror.

But try telling that to the girl with oddly messed-up hair and blanket marks on her face at 5:32. Try telling her those extra twenty minutes are better spent in front of the magnifying mirror with an eyelash curler. Nope. That girl would rather stand in line at the coffee joint, wondering self-consciously if the lady in line behind her is totally creeped out by that weird bedhead-split in the back of her hair that obviously screams “too lazy for a brush!”

But that’s me. Ask the dudes in the cubicles behind me if I’m too lazy for a brush and they’d say: “uh, that girl has a beauty product problem. I swear, any time I walk by her desk, she’s got her concealer brush or her eyeliner out.”

Meh.

The things we do with an early schedule.

If I WERE on that Bravo show, I’d be getting papped for leaving the house looking like death, making the rounds on the F-list gossip sites as the hot mess who needs to consult the mirror before the latte. But at least my giant bowling bag purse would be full of good things to toss at the photogs as I make my getaway.

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