Brigid launched one of those memes -- What's in Your Wallet? or purse or whatever. Her interesting assortment is deadly with its Taurus and amusing with a Milk Bone and a pitch pipe. Her lab is trained to attack on B-flat and come to heel on C-sharp?
The comments are funny. (I bow most deeply to the only fellow who noted that he routinely carries bail money. Even if you never do the perp walk, you learn early in life that cash solves all kinds of problems; not plastic, not checks, just cold, hard Federal Reserve Cartoons.)
Still, the whole thing is depressing because she -- in a damned sexist fashion, if you ask me :) -- short shrifts ages of discrimination against the males of the species. We are forbidden to carry purses on pain of GLBT suspicions.
Yes, I know of the "man-purse" style. Screw it. A purse is a purse, and if John Wayne sported one even he would draw snickers.
It is impossible to tote even minimum daily essentials without spoiling the lines of our Wranglers. To wit:
Hang a pistol, spare ammo, and Leatherman on your belt. Pocket a knife, billfold, money clip, flashlight, keys, Zippo, notebook, binoculars, whistle, compass, and copy of the Constitution. Your jeans hang low enough to earn a chest bump any rappers' convention. Sitting down becomes impossible or at least a pain the ass.
A long time ago some kind designer tried to solve the problem with a "fanny pack." I have a couple, including one in camo, but I never wear them in civilization. And I bear a grudge against whatever fashion czar officially decreed them the certain Mark of the Dork.
Nice little backpack? C'mon. I ain't no matriculant at Miss Porter's Country Day School.