Getting to the bottom of a woman"s handbag

I have come to the conclusion, dear readers that had Robinson Crusoe only been fortunate enough to have a lady"s handbag washed up on his shore, he and Man Friday would have been able to build an aeroplane to fly them off the island!What in the name of all that is weird do women be doing with all the stuff they carry around in their handbag?Lads, how many of you have ever seen the entire contents of a woman"s handbag all out in one pile? It"s a sight to behold; as someone who worked in many pubs, I have ofttimes come to the aid of a damsel in distress whose bag has just been overturned from a bar counter or table and the things you would pick up off the floor - lucky I don"t talk!Ironically, the term 'handbag' was originally coined for the leather bags carried by men at the turn of the twentieth century. It wasn"t until the 1920"s that the term came to its rightful place and became the handbag women know and love today. The handbag was designed for the 1920"s woman because she needed something to carry her possessions in. In those days dresses had become skimpier, without pockets and women had growing independence which meant they began travelling without men. This was the start of it Lads!It is estimated that the average woman"s handbag weighs over 5 lbs. It acts as her tool-box, filing cabinet, office, medicine cabinet and beauty treatment centre. This was brought home to me the other day when I asked the Irish-born wife if she knew where my car keys were. 'Are they not hanging up on the hook?' she asked. I gently pointed out that if they were there, where they should be, that would have eliminated the need for this question in the first place; I further added that she was the last person to drive the car. Then came the most dreaded of directives: 'Check if they are in my bag.' I found the mad-red bag on the kitchen table and rammed a hand down into its murky depths - coming back up with the head of our granddaughter"s doll - brought home to be stuck back on. The next dive produced a screwdriver; followed by a mini umbrella and a folded up nearly-empty tube of toothpaste. I next dislodged a layer of miscellaneous items which was sitting on a colour chart for paint half way down the bag.Yes, yes, I feel a bunch of keys at last, but they turn out to be belonging to a basement in Spain - which I couldn"t find last time I was out there. The search resumes: something soft turns out to be a piece of curtain material and a square of carpet destined for Gowran"s Shop. There is a camera there and some of its produce - a scattering of photos from here and there, with no obvious reason for being transported. A small bottle of perfume is retrieved next, followed by the first of many tubes of lipstick of various colours. Oh good God, two stamped letters I asked to be posted last week and an open-ended tube of lipsyl with a small sachet of salt stuck to it. My hand grips a book; the author is Lesley Pearse - but still no feckin keys. Coming up we have one shiny iPod, a mobile phone and a memory stick, followed by a doll"s torso with chocolate raisins stuck to her behind. A notebook with all shapes and colours of pens are extracted, along with hat, gloves and a small purse. I used to think that foundation was cement poured into the ground but here I discover that it comes in jars as well, along with tubes of mascara. Neither of us smokes but we have a book of matches and two Paddy"s point cigarette lighters here if we ever find a use for them. If this ordeal causes me to cry I have enough tissues extracted already to drain a pond - as a CD appears.By now I am surely near the bottom of the bag - but still no keys. Foreign coins come up from places we"ve been to so long ago that I forget. I shake the bag and think I hear keys, but I cannot pinpoint which compartment.Normally a patient man (ahem!) for once I am beginning to lose it as I turn the bag upside down on the kitchen floor: The cheque book tumbles out, followed by more reading glasses and two pairs of sun-glasses - one with a lens missing. Two AAA batteries hit the deck along with a map of the streets of Dublin (Oh God, if ever a man suffered on that shopping trip) and a brochure of saunas, closely followed by half a dozen Elastoplasts of various sizes. Bag appears to be empty and still no keys! I open its jaws and give really good shake.A shower-like reign of confetti consisting of business cards, credit card, old concert tickets, scribbled phone numbers, a prescription from Whelan"s chemist, receipts from Jim Marshall"s and an appointment card for Jolene floats gently down on top of the pile.I scratch my head with one hand, while absentmindedly putting the other one into my trouser pocket - and there I find my car key!! Just as the keys clear the pocket, my beloved is standing beside me. You know the look Lads - nothing said. 'I suppose I had better put some of this stuff back in your bag,' I offer sheepishly; 'how much of it do you want back?' 'All of it!' I"m told with exaggerated sweetness!Don"t forgetA woman"s intuition is that which enables her to put two and two together and come up with any answer that suits her.