The Ditsy Chronicles

Cleo Twyford is dodging minor disasters, indulging in
chick chat and wielding random insignificant theories.
(And talking about herself in third person)

 
The importance of the handbag in finding a life partner
Friday, July 01, 2005
Yesterday I had a very profound head bada bing about human relationships and how some couples find each other (because obviously armpit secretion matching isn't working all that well if you look at some relationships.)

So my discovery is that the handbag (or purse for those of you who reside in the land of Queen Oprah) is vitally important in matching man to woman. Now I already hear the scoffs and feel the mountains of ridicule that will be piled upon me, but hell, I'm just going to push on anyhoo.

This discovery is also very valuable in removing the ridicule directed at women in relation to the amount of guff, stuff and other important bits and bobs in their handbags. Because, as I am about to prove, the male actually needs it. In fact, subconsciously he seeks out the perfect female handbag and once he finds it, there he finds his perfect life partner.

Okay, so how often have you been out at a restaurant or a cafe and you see a man hand over his wallet and keys for his partner to put in her bag? Well, firstly that female needs to have enough room in her bag for that man's particular personal effects. Eh, eh?!

I've heard several male halves of relationships ask their female counterpart why they need to carry so much around in their handbag, but then in the next breath ask for a tissue or a mint or comb or er hammer or some such. So as well as having enough room, the perfect female also needs to have the perfect handbag contents. Da da, perfect partner.

Jeez the amount of rubbish that comes out of my mouth. It's just phenomenal.

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posted by Cleo Twyford @ 9:44 AM    
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This blog is blathered by a 30-something constant bridesmaid sometimes known as:
Cleo Twyford
Who trips over a lot in:
Melbourne, Victoria, AU

About Me:
Confession: I am really bad at reverse parking Confession 2: I have an inner Evil Bridesmaid Confession 3: I have mastered fridge-grazing as a meal option Confession 4: There is a committee in my head and sometimes they are loud. Yes, okay you can shut up now. I said shut up. Sorry about that.
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"It's Bridget Jones meets Indiana Jones"



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