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Jewz in the Newz by Nate Bloom :
The Kosher Gourmet by Cathy Pollak:
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Peter Ford: Why China is welcoming both Israel's Netanyahu and Palestinians' Abbas
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April 24, 2013
Jewish World Review
August 10, 2012/ 22 Menachem-Av, 5772
Pouty purse has last laugh
I have always carried a grudge against my purse.
A purse is cumbersome. You have to carry it across your arm or
sling it over your shoulder. It is always too small or too big,
and when it's too heavy it makes your shoulder ache. You have to
find room for it in the car, at a friend's house, the movie theater,
or the restaurant. Remember not to trip over it.
I have pocket envy. I wish I could travel light, like men who
can pack everything they need into their pockets.
I recently left my purse at home sitting in the kitchen. "Won't
be needing you today," I chirped. I was traveling light. All I would
be taking with me was my cell phone, and my driver's license and
a credit card both of which had been tucked in a pocket. Talk about
sudden weight loss. I was five pounds lighter as I hopped in the
car. Carefree and purse free, that's what I was.
Two minutes from home my hands felt dry. I needed hand lotion,
which was in my purse, the one sitting alone in the kitchen. Not
to worry. There was probably some in the middle console of the car.
I dug around with one hand and steered with the other. I found a
small bottle of anti-bacterial hand gel. It wasn't hand lotion,
but at least it would be moist. I squirted a big blob into my hands
and rubbed them together.
The gel felt odd. It was thick and heavy. The gel began to harden
like glue. I glanced at the bottle. It was a trial sample of a facial
cleanser that looked exactly like hand gel. I had just lathered
my hands with facial cleanser. It felt like I was wearing thick
gloves with tight plastic lining.
I kept one soaped-up hand on the wheel and stretched my other
soap-caked hand to the glove box. Registration papers, straws, air
pressure gauge, Tylenol. Finally - an anti-bacterial foam pump,
cranberry scented. It looked ancient, but I was desperate. I squirted
some into my hands.
The foam made the facial soap suds. I should have known that.
Now the steering wheel was slippery. And the foam didn't smell
like cranberry, it smelled like urine. My sticky, sudsy hands smelled
like wet diaper.
I dug through the console again. Surely there was a napkin in
there somewhere, a scrap of paper, a cash register receipt. Anything?
Wait. A dollar bill!
I tried wiping my hands on the dollar. Nothing. The gunk had
hardened and my hands were shriveling.
I fished through the console again. Eureka! -- a small hand and
face wipe in a foil packet. I opened it carefully at a stoplight,
taking care to unfold it gently so I would get every drop of moisture.
It tore along every fold. It does no good to wipe your hands with
a small, dry, shredded paper towel.
Finally at my destination, 30 minutes later, I went directly
to the ladies room. I left so many bubbles behind it looked like
a 5-year-old had been playing in the sink.
When I returned home, I put my license and credit card back in
my wallet. My purse laughed out loud.
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© 2012, Lori Borgman
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