What are you carrying?

I have a bag and a bag and a bag.

Repetition aside, I have a tote bag and a lunchbox and a purse.
(which is new because I’m not typically the purse type)

But I usually have a bag. Or a basket. Or (as in the case of my lunchbox) a bag full of bags.

I put my peach in a bag so that it wouldn’t squish peachy peach ooze all over my sandwich (a wich which is also carefully zipped away in plastic); my cheerios—nostalgic little nods to my childhood—are snug in their red-and-blue fresh seal bag; and my potatoes (yes, potatoes, plural) –the potatoes too are in their own little world of ziplocked happiness (a detail which, in retrospect, may have turned them a little).

I guess I like bags.

But it also means I hate being unprepared. Or empty.