I pulled my pants on, a knit shirt, slid on my flat shoes, grabbed my purse and headed for the door. My husband and I are going shopping for our groceries. But before shopping I'm going to send a package to a friend, so we'll stop by the post office before going to the market. I took the package with me. I have my purse with me already, but it seems light, not it's usual weight. Something is amiss. I went back upstairs, checked on the night table to see if it's there. No, it's not there. To the home office, where my computer is and where I usually put that thing, it's not there. It's not in the bathroom either. I went back downstairs to see if I missed it; in the kitchen; in the den; and in the living room. It's not in any of those places. Now where is that thing? Where did I lay it on? I went back upstairs again. Maybe I missed a room or I just didn't see it. While climbing the stairs, something clicked in my head. I have not checked the room on my right--that little room I call my studio; the place where I do my work and put all my junk on the drawing table. Aah, I was right, it's there.
Years ago when I leave the house I take my purse filled with my survival paraphernalia for the day, like a lipstick, a compact, keys, driver's license, my wallet and other little whatnot. I survive the day with these junk in my purse.
Nowadays, I can't leave home without this little gizmo. I have to turn the house upside down to look for it before heading out the door. It's now a necessity, this little thing that connects me to all while I'm on the go, this little thing called...cellphone.