Welcome to a new series here at Masked Mom in which I will enumerate the many ways, despite overwhelming chronological and cosmetic evidence to the contrary, that I am not a grown-up.
Way number one: I do not carry a purse. Or even a wallet. I did carry a wallet for ten or so years and I do often carry a tote bag* full of books, notebooks, etc, but I haven't carried a wallet for three years and a "real" purse for much longer.
Because of this, I carry any ID or whatever I might need in the back pocket of my jeans.
Because of this, when I am walking into a grocery store, I will touch the back pocket of my jeans to make sure my debit card is in there.
Because of this, I am always reassured when I can feel a rectangular plastic card in my back pocket.
Because of this, I have the extreme pleasure of engaging a little too often in conversations such as the one I had this afternoon:
Cashier: How are you today?
MM: I'm great. [Glancing down at the plastic card I'm about to swipe through the card reader.] I'd be a lot better if this was my debit card instead of my library card. I'm gonna have to run out to my van.
*This bag has been a variety of bags over the years and is currently a canvas tote bag decorated with pansies, which are my favorite flower. The bag was a gift years ago from Cranky Ex-Boss Lady. Whichever bag it's been, it's my transitional object. What it is not is a purse. I take it with me when I drive clients to out of town AA meetings and several of them have said, "Do you have any tissues in your bag?" Or "Do you have any lotion in your purse?" Um, nope. Sorry. Not a grown-up.
The Traveling Salesman
15 hours ago