Bag Lady

Being at various times a traitor to my class, my gender, my sex, my home town, my star sign, my country and my religion or lack thereof I find myself confused.

Being the most manly of men (hah!) I used to hold stock with the notion of stuffing one’s pockets with whatever you might need for the day ahead. This machismo was swiftly halted when placing a paperback book in my jacket used to make me walk funny: attempts to put hand in pocket, finds book in there filling pocket and probably fucking up the stitching and RUINING everything for years to come and walk slightly awkwardly with hand swinging in the breeze or do that annoying thing of putting hands in trouser pockets and encouraging too much bad posture and my posture is bad enough thank you very much OR putting your hands behind your back and looking like you are trying to ape royalty and having problems whenever you need to open a door.

You get the idea.

So I bought a bag*. At the time it was horrific and I probably had to ask a girl to help me or something. (These days of course, I can buy nail polish remover without blinking. Get me!)

This partially solved the problem. Now I could walk around without fucking up my pockets, but a related problem soon reared its head, one that hasn’t been solved:

I DON’T PUT ENOUGH IN THE BAG.

Please see below,  in blurry glory:

I need more things I can’t help but think. Suggestions welcome. And by the way, I don’t normally carry my passport around with me, it’s just I picked up a parcel on erm… Tuesday and it has remained ever since.

* And while I’m thinking about it, what’s with that way of holding a handbag in that odd way? You know, with the bag hanging off the elbow and the lower arm part held at an odd angle? Where did that come from?