Waterfall

     It is said that a  man's wallet holds his driver's license and credit cards, but a woman's pocketbook holds her life.  If that is so, I drowned today. 
     It goes without saying that you never want to put your pocketbook on the floor of a public restroom, no matter how sanitary that bathroom may appear.  Apparently most public bathrooms have been designed by men, because in most cases there are no provisions made for where to place one's purse.  A hook on the wall would be nice, but seldom found.  So the go-to location, and often the only place available, is the bathroom sink. 
   Now of course I mean the side of the bathroom sink, but again the lack of consideration for sufficient space rears its head.  A hook, a shelf, enough room on the side of the sink---it's just not going to happen.
   Today, in the ladies' room of a medical office, I placed my pocketbook in the only available space, along the side of the sink.  In the best of all worlds, that is where it would have stayed, but, alas!   When I returned to the sink, my pocketbook had slid down into the sink proper.  And as modernity would have it, one of those automatic sinks where the water runs when you place your hands beneath the faucet.  Stupid sink, not to recognize the difference between hands presented for washing and a pocketbook accidentally slipping in from the too narrow side of the sink.
    The water pressure in the building must be excellent, and the water flow optimal, because in the brief time period of its immersion, the pocketbook, which had landed in an upright position, and of the type not closed on top, was filled to the brim with water.  Enough water so that I upended it and poured it into the sink, but the leather bag and its contents were totally soaked through, and dripping.  I had only a few minutes to get to my appointment, not enough time to return to my car with the seeping, oozing bag.  I certainly didn't want to have to explain what had happened, so I took the only course available.  I grabbed handfuls of paper towels out of the wall, dispenser ( a fortunate alternative to the blower) , and layered them into my pocketbook.  I hoped I would not have to delve into my purse for insurance cards; I would not relish being pointed out as the crazy old lady stealing a whole bag full of paper towels.  Wish granted---everything was on the computer. Phew!