After my mother accused me of being my grandmother early in the week, I�ve been a bit sensitive. But as I was digging through my purse to find stuff to renew my parking pass, I had one of those small, terrifying moments where you see just how that could happen.

Contents of my purse at this very moment:

1. earplugs (bright orange, in a plastic container)

2. fortune from a long-ago Chinese meal

3. bright red wallet covered with no fewer than 4 Post-It notes (call Kate, Jane�s work phone number, Planned Parenthood phone number, and Ben Slotky, whom I don�t actually know), containing other items too numerous to mention

4. 2 Zora Neale Hurston stamps

5. ratty old lavender eyeglasses case

6. Slingshot organizer

7. tampons

8. cat toenail clippers

9. inhaler

10. lipstick case (2 lipsticks, one liner, and one crazy lip paint thingie)

11. mirrored lipstick case (empty)

12. compact

13. 3 old shopping lists

14. personalized pen (from a wedding I didn�t attend)

15. work phone list (from 9/17/2001)

16. car wash coupon (from 8/2002)

17. Science Diet cat food coupon (expires 3/31/2003)

18. Animal Emergency Clinic card

19. pack of gum (one stick left)

20. tin of cinnamon Altoids

Oh yeah. If I start working at the Fannie May, please schedule an intervention.

But hey, there�s also this�Grandma B�s still better than ending up like my mom. She�s content to sit on her couch, wave her feet around, eat ice cream and cookies all day, and have her kitten sitting on her boobs. Yes, people. Her wee new kitten crawls up her belly and stretches out across her ample bosom to nap, while Mom looks like she�s wearing a bit of a fur muffler in the 90-degree heat. It�s truly fascinating.

I must go look for Monty Hall. Today could be my lucky day.