By the time I was in my early twenties my purse was filled with paraphernalia for chapped lips, chapped hands, unruly fingernails, allergies, parking lot thugs, cuts and bruises, bad hair, bad weather, bad breath and bad karma. When I became a mother, my purse ballooned to the size of Mont Blanc. It took awhile to realize that I was lugging around not just a lot of useless stuff; I was lugging around the what-if-you-never-know culture and anxiety of Preparedness.
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