Where's my purse?!

So, I'm sitting at Duffy's Tavern with my nephew Kerry at his birthday brunch last Sunday. I'm enjoying all the crab legs and mimosas I can handle, when a couple of girls ask to squeeze past us in order to get to a table. Fine, fine, no problem. It's kind of what you expect at a downtown Chicago bar-- packed in elbow to elbow.

But wait! One chick has a suitcase with her! Not some cute carry-on. It's a BIG ASS piece of luggage! Big enough to fit a 5-year-old inside (although I'm pretty sure the police frown on that type of behavior).

Has she ever been inside a Chicago bar? Have any of her friends? Someone should have explained to the girl that downtown bars have very little floor space and no one wants to trip over her crap, so she needed to leave her metric ton of worldly possessions somewhere else or not come at all.

So, now I need to get my purse off the back of my chair because heaven forbid she knock my new Coach purse to the floor! When I reach back for it, my purse is not there. Crap, it's already on the floor, then. Wait, no! I don't see my purse anywhere!

Oh no! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Why did I leave my purse on the back of my chair, where I couldn't keep an eye on it?

What am I going to do now?

Sigh. OK. Let's backtrack. When did I see it last? That's right. I was digging through it just a few minutes ago, looking for an embarrassing childhood photo of Kerry to share with him and his friends on this special day (I am so his favorite aunt). Did I get the photo out yet? No, I was interrupted by some girl with her super-sized Samsonite trying to get past me.

Wait a minute...

My purse is in my left hand. I've been spinning around in a panic, shouting "Where's my purse?!" And it's been in my hand the whole time!

Luckily, since the music is so loud, the only people who have heard me act like an idiot are my BFF Regina and Kerry, who will probably rag on me about this for quite a while. That's fine. I still have that photo.