If Her Purse Could Talk


Hang with me here, ok?

My Coach purse has given me 10 years of loyal servitude. It’s the fanciest thing I own, and that’s why I finally let her go into retirement. She has seen too much. She has been set on sticky bar bathroom floors while her drunk owner did her business, and she was there for the birth of my children.

I’m pretty sure she hates me, and if my purse could talk, well…

Its 7:15 and the human has finally woken up, look at her in her plaid robe and fuzzy slippers. She’s a mess. I can already tell we aren’t showering today.

Her husband calls her Ashley, I call her The Disaster. You have no idea what I’ve been through with this bitch. Did you know she once drove over me with her mini-van in a DMV parking lot?

“Kids, breakfast is ready” She calls out.

“Cocoa Puffs!! Yayyy!!!”

Ah, yes. She worked real hard for their most important meal of the day, didn’t she?

“She has more than me”

“I do not – hey! Give it back! Mom! He took my cereal!”

“Stop fighting over it, it’s going to…damn it! Someone grab me a towel please”

…This is about the time I zone out because they’ll be bickering and cleaning up milk messes for the next hour anyway. The Disaster is about to zone out too. She’ll drink her coffee and stare at something for an inappropriate amount of time until the caffeine kicks in. And, ah – yes, right on time – apparently the throw blanket on the couch has caught her attention today.

During this time she ignores the kids using their spoons as swords and the dogs barking that they want to go outside. Nope, she’s zoned…there is no getting her back until…oh – yep, ok, she’s good now.

“Where are we going mommy?”

I’m wondering the same thing, because The Disaster just put on a bra which means we’re about to vacate the premises.

“Guys get dressed we have to go to the grocery store”

Wtf. I hate grocery day.

“Can we get candy?”

She’ll say no.

“No, not today, maybe another day though – ok?”

That’s a lie. Ten bucks says they come home with at least two packs of gum.

“Please mommy??”

“No honey, not today. Please go brush your teeth and get dressed”

The Disaster will pretend to clean up breakfast, but give up mid-way when she catches a glimpse of something horrifying. For a moment she looks terrified, like she’s just caught an intruder in her home – but the fear dissolves into reluctant acceptance when she realizes its only her reflection in the dining room mirror. You’d think she’d do something about it – maybe throw on some eye liner or mascara. But no…The Disaster will just assume that I, a coach purse, will be enough style to class up her yoga pants and NY Giants sweatshirt.

Even I can’t do some things.

While The Disaster changes out of pajamas into – let’s face it – fancier pajamas, the gremlins will have taken their sheets off their mattresses and their mattresses of their beds and built a fort. I already saw the little one smuggle the box of fruit snacks under her shirt, there is no way she hasn’t gone through them all by now. I hope The Disaster remembers to add them to the list, cause the little one will get super pissed without her Disney fruit snacks.

“Ok guys! You ready?” She’ll call out, cause she’s dumb. Its seriously the dumbest and most frequent question she asks. ‘Are you ready?’ When the hell have they ever been ready?

The 5 year old male will come out of his bedroom in football pants, a football jersey, his helmet and of course…his football. The 3-year-old tiny female will have no clothes on, her teeth will be stuck together from the fruit snack binge – and even though she’ll look like a disturbed little clown in her make-up – at least she’s put in more effort than The Disaster.

“No…no, no no! Please go change, you aren’t wearing that to the grocery store”

“Why not?!?”

“Because you’re naked!!”

For some reason, The Disaster will actually argue with the tiny female over this for quite some time. The young male will go back to his room and play with his Legos while his female house companions figure their shit out.

In about 3 hours, they will be on their way to the grocery store. The young male will be dressed appropriately, while the tiny female will look like the Princess section of the Disney Store threw up on her. The Disaster, well, we’re lucky her Crocs match.

“I’m hot”

“How long is this going to take?”

“Not long, we just need milk and bread”

“Mommy I’m cold”

“How are you cold? I’m dying mom. Can I take my coat off?”

“No buddy, keep your coat on. We’ll be there in less than ten minutes”

The Disaster will turn the music up to drown out the gremlins and I will sit here wondering when she’ll notice she’s left her windshield wipers on full blast when there isn’t a speck of moisture in the air.

When we get to the grocery store, she’ll spend another ten minutes putting coats and shoes back on the children and another five trying to talk the tiny female into sitting in the cart.

When she finally makes it into the grocery store, with both children walking on either side of her, she’ll make the grave mistake of veering to the left. Everything on her list (milk and bread) is to the right.

Why…why did you go left? You know that’s where the….

“Donuts!! Mommy can we get a donut??”


“Yes, but only if you sit in the cart to eat it”

Ah, bribery – The Disasters way of parenting the tiny female.

Squeals of excitement ensue, and the tiny female is placed on top of me until she bitches loud and long enough for the Disaster to dig me out from beneath her.

“Here babe, can you hold mommy’s purse please?”

Awesome. Fucking Awesome.


I’m covered in frosting before the donut is even handed to the tiny female, don’t ask me how it’s possible – but it is, because it happened.

“Try and finish your donuts while we’re shopping”

“How come?”

So your thief ass mother doesn’t have to pay for them.

“Just because”


“Star Wars cereal!!!! Mommy can we get it?”

Not a chance kid, mama isn’t paying full price for name brand cereal. You can have Moon Battle cereal.

“No, what about this one – the little character on the front kind of looks like star wars, right?”


“Um…not really mommy, but that’s ok. I don’t need it”

The young male is good, look at those puppy dog eyes. See how The Disaster looks at him? Guilt written all over her face. Or maybe that’s left over donut, because yeah, she ate one too – in like, 2 bites.

“Ok, go ahead”

For the next 45 minutes, the Star Wars box of cereal will never leave the young male’s hands and will be used as a Machine gun. He will shoot everything and everyone in the store. Some of the nicer customers will play along and say “Oh – ya got me!” while others (my kind of people) will give the young male a tight smile and give The Disaster a look that says ‘are you even watching your kid? He just shot me like, 5 times with a box of cereal’

The Disaster will give them a look right back that says ‘I’m covered in stolen donut, does it look like I care? Fuck off’

The tiny female will grab everything within reaching distance, not grabbing distance, reaching distance – because her hands are so sticky she literally just as to come in contact with something in order to toss it into the cart.

“Oh honey, cover your mouth if you think your going to…”


“Sneeze…oh, wow…that’s….icky”

That’s all I get? You’re monster in pigtails just donut-sneezed all over me and all I get is a “that’s icky??”

Bitch that’s disgusting!

Oh, awesome…great – so now we’re just going to continue shopping like you didn’t just wipe her snotty nasty face with your sweatshirt sleeve? Wow…wooowww.

“Mommy what are those?” The young male asks.

“Um…Small toilet bowl brushes”

“It says ‘tampons’”

Told you not to teach him how to read. No good has come of it.

“What are they for?”

Yeah, mom. What are they for?

“Girl stuff”


“Ok, honey – someday you can have some”

The young male will protest and demand that he gets tampons too. The Disaster will promise to give him some someday.

It isn’t until they are in line at the register that the tiny female will pipe in again, loudly.

“Me a ‘durl’ because I have a ‘bagina’ mommy?”


“Yes, honey, that’s why. Shh” The Disaster will whisper. But “Shh” and whispering to the tiny female is code for ‘talk louder, little demon’.

“And brother is a boy because hims gots a Penis?”

“Yes, honey. We’ll talk about it in the car”

“I want a penis”

“Well you can’t have one, please quiet down”


The Disaster covers the tiny female’s mouth with her hand and whisper-yells “Fine, ok? We’ll get you one! Please just stop talking!”

The Disaster hasn’t looked up, but she knows everyone is looking at her. How could she not? I mean – who can yell Penis three times in a grocery store and get away with it? No one, that’s who.

“Can we get some gum?”

The Disaster closes her eyes and sighs “yeah, sure…whatever”

I’m happy to be out of the clutches of the tiny female, but we were so close – why in the hell would The Disaster let her get out of the cart to pick her own gum?

“If she gets a penis, does that mean I get a bagina? Cause I don’t want one”


“You’re total comes to $179.63” The cashier says.

“Oh no, I’m sorry – I think I had a coupon for that detergent. Let me just dig it out of my purse”

She has a coupon for that detergent alright, she has all sorts of coupons in many of my little pockets. They’ve all expired at least 3 months ago, but she’ll insist on going through this ‘searching’ process anyway. It will take an annoying amount of time, the tiny female will lay on the floor as if she’s making snow angels and groan about ‘everything taking so long’. The young male will pick a banana out of the bag and continue you his machine-gun assault on the store but only after he’s pushed every button on the credit card machine and rewired their entire payment system.

Once The Disaster has combed through all 400 receipts, bonus cards, expired credit cards, expired coupons, random army men, pens that don’t work, lip gloss she didn’t know she had, gum wrappers, a screw driver, germ-gel, her phone, her pointless wallet, dirty coins, a nail file, a planner, makeup, tweezers and about a million other things that don’t belong in a purse as cool as me – she will announce “Nope, I guess I don’t have it”

You know what else wasn’t in there?

Her dignity.

I knew I was losing my girl years ago…around the first time she lifted the young male’s ass to her face and took a big healthy sniff to see if he had pooped. He had. Dignity, gone.

Once the groceries and children are herded into the car, The Disaster will push the cart into the cart return, turn her back on me and walk away.

I’ll sit, alone in the cart in the parking lot, begging passerby’s to take me. They look…they ponder it, but upon closer inspection of my tattered straps and chocolate (please be chocolate) stains – they simply curl their lips and walk away. Not only do they not want to steal me, but they don’t want to touch me long enough to bring me to lost and found.

Just when I come to terms with my new and better life as a parking lot purse…The Disaster ruins my day when she comes barreling back into the parking lot on two wheels like Fast & Furious: Mom Edition – extracts me from the cart and says “Oh my god, I can’t believe I almost left this here. Everything I need is inside this purse”

Almost? Bitch you did leave me here, and the only thing you need to use inside of me is that hair brush and compact mirror you’ve never opened – guuurl. smh.

The Disaster gets home and realizes she forgot to get milk and bread – so she calls The Idiot to pick some up on his way home from work.

While she’s on the phone, the gremlins will dump me out in search of the gum and penises they were promised.

“Guys – no! Those aren’t swords, please stop. Babe, I gotta go – the kids are opening my tampons and using them as weapons again. Yep, ok – love you too”

The Disaster salvages what she can from the scattered and half opened mini toilet brushes and decides to get started on dinner. No, she didn’t miss lunch – she gave them donuts, remember?

“Can we have a snack?”

“Nope, dinner will be ready soon. Go play”

Please note the chocolate in the corners of The Disasters mouth. Bitch hasn’t stopped snacking. See that decorative jar on the shelf in the kitchen? The one masquerading as a recipe box? That’s where all the name brand chocolate is hidden.

“Can I take your purse to the chicken coop with me mommy?”


“No babe, leave it in here, that purse was expensive”

Yeah…I was expensive! Remember when you weren’t The Disaster? Remember the good times we had back when you had a job and before you used me as a diaper bag and shoved shitty diapers inside of me at the mall and zipped me closed? Why won’t you just let me die? Why are you so attached to me? Float me out to sea and shoot me with a flaming arrow. Toss me in the dump. Leave me at the gynecologist again. I DON’T CARE! Just let me go…please!

“Please mommy? The chickens love your purse”


But does she make sure the tiny human listens?


The chunky hands of a small child wrap around my handle, her deep breathing no longer scares me, and I know I’m about to have 14 baby chicks stuffed into me and I’ll be covered in shit and left in the coop before The Disaster even turns around.

Oh wait…no! Yes!! I’m saved when The Idiot gets home!

The sounds the children will make greeting him will do more damage to my ear drums than what I could do if I had hands and a pencil.


“Hey guys!” The Idiot will then drop to his knees so he can willingly be physically assaulted by the gremlins. The Tiny female will pull on his beard while the young male steals The Idiots hat.

“Daddy, mommy said I can have a Penis!”

“And she said I can have tampons!”

The Idiot’s eyebrows raise. “Was mommy drinking her special grown-up juice today?”

The Disaster will deny it, and even though I didn’t catch her drinking her special juice – she did make an awful lot of trips to the kitchen and return with nothing.

After greeting The Idiot, The Disaster will ask what everyone wants for dinner.

“I’m not really hungry, babe”



“Ok, ham and potatoes it is”


“Me no like tatoes”

Why she ever asks this question, I will never understand. To torture herself? To give the children false hope?

While she prepares the ham and potatoes (peels a ham steak out of the plastic and slaps it on a pan, then takes out ‘Steamables’ potatoes from the freezer and shoves the package in the microwave) The miniature assholes will ask her 4,000 questions she doesn’t have the answers to while The Idiot takes a thirty minute bathroom break.

“Dinner is ready guys”

They try to talk about their day, but The Disaster doesn’t even know where to start so she says “It was good, I think” The Idiot will give her a similar answer and the children will refuse to eat anything from their plates.

“I’m not hungry mommy”

“You were starving ten minutes ago”

“What’s this?”

“Green beans”



“Me no like green beans”

“Eat them”

The Disaster doesn’t notice The Idiot feeding the dog his burnt ham beneath the table, nor does she notice the cup of milk she placed too close to the edge of the table in front of the tiny female.







“It’s ok, just grab a towel…Seriously, someone grab me a towel. Don’t cry, its ok, it’s just milk”

The young male takes this time to dump his plate to the dogs and the Idiot takes mercy on his son and pretends like he doesn’t see him do it.

Milk is cleaned up, plates are cleared and it’s time to get ready for bed.

Bath time is more fighting, splashing and wet children running naked through the house.

“Stop running! Someone is going to get hurt”

By yelling “Stop running” The Disaster has only slowed the children down while they are within sight of her, once they round the corner they are at full speed again.

“Seriously you guys, stop running! Someone is going to get…”



“I didn’t do it!! She fell on her own”

“Damn it, I told you guys someone was going to get hurt!”

“Babe, hey babe?”


“Any chance you know where the kids put my hat?”

The Disaster will stare at her naked and crying children, her lost husband – and decide its time.

The old familiar pop of the cork and the pouring of sweet red wine. The Disaster and I share a look, and for a moment we’re dressed in skinny jeans, boots and a tank top with an ample (but still classy) amount of cleavage spilling out. We’re dancing in front of a live band and…



The Disaster bandages the children, tackles the tiny female to the ground to brush her hair and leaves the teeth brushing and book reading to The Idiot.

“Mommy, I can’t find Bear-Bear!!”

The tiny female oh-so-creatively named her favorite stuffed bear, “Bear-Bear” And if they don’t find Bear-Bear, the tiny female will not be going to bed. For a stuffed animal she loves so much, she sure doesn’t keep a very good eye on the disgusting little treasure.

“Ok, people – fan out!”

The Disaster, The Idiot and the young male will frantically sprint to their designated areas of the house (See color coded and laminated map on the fridge) and just when they are about to send out an Amber-Alert, the tiny female confesses that she may have brought him to the store that day.

Because miracles do happen, Bear-Bear is found in the van.

Ah. Poor Bear-Bear, we share a look of comradery as he passes by…a look that says “Sorry buddy…you know I’d kill you, but then who would kill me?”

And then they continue with their bed-time routine….

“Mommy, I’m hungry”

“Then you shouldn’t have fed your food to the dog”

Huh. She knew.

“But he was hungry”

“He has his own food”

“Can I have some candy?”


“But I’m starving!!!”

“Then breakfast will taste extra good”


“Fine, you guys can each have a banana, no junk food”

The children will set a record and manage to eat their bananas in under an hour. The Disaster and Idiot will then re-brush their teeth and kiss their little loves goodnight.

They only have 2 hours before the tiny female will make her way into their bed, they know this – so they rush to the couch to watch anything with swear words in it. The Idiot and Disaster use this time to salvage brain cells and decompress, and tonight it only takes them 45 minutes to realize they are still watching Dora the Explorer on a loop.

The disaster will sit on the floor and fold clothes and try very hard not to spill her wine on the already stained-beyond-help carpet. The idiot will ice his back, keep track of the remote and try very hard not to say anything to the girl on the floor about the green beans in her hair.

But both will develop turrets, because at least seven times over the next hour, each at random will yell “Get back in bed”, “I mean it this time”, “last warning” and “You’ve had enough to drink”

The Idiot won’t even ask The Disaster why their daughter was promised a penis, or their son a box of tampons – the same way she didn’t question him when he came out of the tiny female’s bedroom tonight sporting two shades of eyeshadow and neon orange fingernails.

“I think they’re finally asleep” The Idiot will whisper.

The Disaster will lift her head and listen carefully. “Yeah, I think you’re right”

“You wanna…”

“I bought tampons today, remember?”

“Oh, right. Well – hey, at least you aren’t pregnant!”

The Disaster and The Idiot will high five at their good fortune and head to bed for a night full of “move overs” and “mommy, she’s squishing me” and “Well, if you slept in your own bed you’d have plenty of room”, “I’m hot”, “I’m cold”, “I’m thirsty”, “I have to go potty”, “Where’s bear-bear!!!”

And the next morning, The Idiot will have earned his name when he says “So – the kids slept through the night, huh? That’s good”image

Thanks for visiting MadStella!! <3

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Ashley Thomas lives in the country as a stay at home mom to two naughty kids (Maddox & Stella) and a pretty cool husband. She’s an avid reader/writer/wannabe blogger and when she’s not taking care of her family, you can find her chasing rogue chickens in her backyard with a bag (yeah, a bag) of wine at her hip and a kindle in her hand.

2 thoughts on “If Her Purse Could Talk”

  1. omfg – lmao — I was dying, almost peed lol – thats some great writing and really the purse is in much better condition than I thought it would be — I’d like to say we should meet for coffee(hmm wine) but oh that might be oh so bad we could get into so much trouble — Id end up asking for a penis tampon —

  2. oops I have forgotten to tell you Ash — I have this sent to my email and I have saved every post and you have your very own Madstella folder in my email — so I can reread if I want — just amazing you are

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