Pit of Doom returns bigger than ever

The Pit of Doom is back, and it’s bigger than ever before.


No, the Pit of Doom is not the Sarlacc Pit that swallowed ultracool bounty hunter Boba Fett in “Return of the Jedi,” and it’s not some megahard olive pit that may have destroyed your back molar.’

It’s the name I gave to my wife’s purse years ago, and one that caught on with other husbands I know, including my late father-in-law who used to joke around with me that his wife’s Pit of Doom was bigger and deadlier than my wife’s.

Both of us knew that once an item went into the Pit of Doom, there was only a 50-50 chance it was ever coming out again.

But something strange happened over the years. The Pit of Doom shrunk. With every incarnation, it got smaller, to the point I rarely referred to it as the Pit of Doom. I figured smaller purses must have been the trend, and I wasn’t going to argue with that.

But out of nowhere the Pit of Doom returned. My wife said to me, as she often has, “I got a new purse.” Figuring I’d have to do the obligatory “It looks very nice,” my mouth nearly dropped when she showed me something not much smaller than a larger carry-on luggage bag.

“Whose body do you plan on hiding in there?” I asked, thinking maybe mine for even asking the question.

“Nobody’s,” she laughed. “I just liked it.” She probably said something about it being on sale, but I missed that because I was still awed at the sheer size of it, like people probably felt upon encountering the Titanic prior to its fateful maiden voyage.

I dropped the subject, figuring that maybe such a big purse would actually eliminate previous Pit of Doom issues, purely on the fact she could just stick her head in there when she needed to find something, making the task much easier.

That wasn’t to be, though, as I often started hearing the once familiar phrase of “I can’t find it in my purse.” Like the Bermuda Triangle, things have gone missing again, with little hope of ever being found again.

The Pit of Doom has its benefits when things aren’t getting lost in it, though. Needing a scissors one day, my wife pulled one out of her purse. I’m guessing not many other people can have scissors ready like that at their disposal.

With concealed carry, a gun is likely to get lost in the Pit of Doom, but the purse itself could serve as an effective weapon, so I don’t ever have to worry about her safety. Should she ever need it, she would just have to swing the purse and hit her target. The only problem would be having enough momentum to actually swing the purse.

I can joke all I want, but I wouldn’t dare print this without giving my wife her say. Her comment:

“I will accept and acknowledge that my purse has, on multiple occasions, become the final resting place of many an item which is never to be seen again. I attribute this to the same creature that eats at least one half of a pair of socks with every load of laundry that comes out of the dryer.

“As for the size, I, like many other mothers, find it necessary to carry something more fashionable, yet not dissimilar to a diaper bag for amusing and contending with children (and often husbands) on public outings. Frequently, you will find a wide variety of crayons, matchbox cars or Star Wars figurines within its clutches.

“Note to readers… the husband frequently cites Star Wars references… any guesses who the figurines are for in this case? It is not uncommon to find a juice box, packs of gum or a variety of other treats as well. We women need to do what we need to do to manage our families. If that includes keeping an arsenal in a large accessory, so be it.”
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Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Nov. 18, 2011.

Wife's purse is 'Pit of Doom'

My wife, Jenny, like most women, carries a purse, or what I call the “Pit of Doom.” I call it this because whatever she puts into it may never come out again.
For example, this week she had to rent a U-Haul, which required her driver’s license. The U-Haul guy waited and waited, and so did others behind her in line, as she dug through her purse searching for the one item that should be easily accessible.
It may have been in her wallet, but the wallet was in her purse and even that was not an easy find. Fortunately, her father was with her and he provided his license so she could rent the U-Haul.
If it had been a police officer waiting for her to find the license, she may have been put in jail under the suspicion of being one of those pesky Canadians who try to sneak into our country for the nearly identical exchange rate on money and the disease-free fishing available here.
Had she been arrested, I would have felt sorry for the evidence person who would have had to document all the items in her possession while processing her. Going through her purse would have been an all-day job, and one taxpayers would have had to foot the bill for, not that they don’t have enough bills to worry about.
When Jenny got home, she emptied her purse in an attempt to find the lost driver’s license. The stuff that piled out of her purse amazed me. It included anything one would need to survive on a desert island, except food and water, although I may have found these essentials if I had been brave enough to search through the pile.
When I make fun of her “Pit of Doom” pile, she shushes me and says everything in her purse is essential and she always knows how to find what she is looking for. Clearly this is the case, since she is searching for a driver’s license she can’t find.
She eventually found it; I’m not sure where because I didn’t have enough courage to ask her where in no man’s land she found it.
Jenny’s father said her mother is the same way. He told me how $20 bills would appear out of nowhere in the purse, exciting her because she knew she had put that money in there and couldn’t figure out where it was.
On the rare occasion I have a $20 bill, I know where it is at all times. Most of the time it’s in my wallet, which is all I need to hold the essentials I need to survive away from the house. If it’s not in my wallet, it’s in my pocket or some other location only I know of and is safe from people that aren’t me.
I believe my brain is magnetically attached to any money bills I possess. After spending them, I have to train myself to think that it no longer belongs to me.
The funniest aspect of my wife’s “Pit of Doom” is that she has a Coach purse. Coach makes some of the most fashionable purses around and they are not cheap. Jenny said her purse is one of the most important items she owns and spending a little extra money to get a better one is something she doesn’t mind.
I won’t argue with her on that, because I agree; however, I find it funny that on the outside the purse is the equivalent of a Miss America, but on the inside it’s completely ugly.
Not all women have a “Pit of Doom.” When I asked one of my co-workers if she had one, she explained that she read a book on better organization that allowed her to make her purse something no one would fear.
She showed me how the smaller items are categorized and put into smaller containers in her purse, each with a different textured feel so she can reach into it and know which container to grab to find the object she is looking for. This allowed her to free up enough space to put her own “filing cabinet,” as I called it, for the many papers she carries around. This filing cabinet is actually two folders, but it definitely works.
She also has room to carry a leisure book for reading when she has time.
After seeing her purse I was actually a little envious that it still isn’t socially acceptable for men to carry man-purses.
If it were socially acceptable and I found that I was more like my wife than I thought and had a disorganized man-purse, I would hope she would call it my “Sarlacc Pit,” the pit Jabba the Hut tried to feed Han Solo, Luke Skywalker and Chewbacca into in “Return of the Jedi.” That would be way too cool.