In college, my major was mechanical design, but I found myself with a second interest in philosophy, focusing on the great historical thinkers and visionaries. In my spare time, I was involved in discussion groups contemplating the mysteries of life. I had no idea that one day, life’s most complicated mystery would surround me and I would not discover its depth until I had been married for several years. That mystery was the special connection between a woman and her pocketbook.

While in high school, I had a simple wallet with the beaded image of an Native American chief on the flap. After college, I traded the wallet in for a more professional black leather wallet, which I carried for many years — simple and straightforward.

However, I noticed the women in my life had multiple pocketbooks, handbags, dress bags, “clutches” and evening bags of all sizes, designs and configurations. For some reason, none of these bags ever seemed totally suitable, thus their continued ongoing search for the “right bag.” In some ways, this search for the perfect bag reminded me of Indiana Jones and his search for the Holy Grail.

As I matured, a woman’s search for the perfect pocketbook was replaced by something even more striking. Women personally identify with their pocketbook to the extent of a physical desire to protect it, seemingly with their lives if necessary.

I noticed this first when I once asked my wife for her driver’s license so I could make the copies required for a legal document we needed to submit. She said the license was in her pocketbook. I asked where the pocketbook was, thinking I would just get the license, make the copy and return it.

However, my wife instructed me to bring the pocketbook to her, she would then retrieve the license and give it to me. Apparently no one can actually enter the pocketbook except the owner. We had been married for several years at that time and it wasn’t like I was going to suddenly learn that she had lied about her age.

If you ever pick up a woman’s pocketbook, be sure to bend your knees — those things weigh a ton. I swear my wife keeps at least one concrete block in hers at all times based on how heavy it is. In some cases, there may be some justification for the size and weight, at least in my sister-in-law’s case. I have been with her at hospital visits, school athletic games, family gatherings, church dinners and other social events. Regardless of what happens — a cut, an insect bite, a bloody nose, a splinter, skinned knee or a broken arm — she will open her pocketbook and quietly say, “Just a minute, I have something for that.”

I swear you could have a flat tire and she would open her pocketbook and come up with a jack and a tire wrench. Women carry much more than lipstick, a comb and a couple of bucks in their pocketbooks because they always seem to be ready for any emergency.

I thought I had seen everything in connection with women and their pocketbooks until recently. My wife and I were in State College at her doctor’s, where she was complaining of shoulder pain (probably caused by carrying that heavy pocketbook). He quickly scheduled her for X-rays to better analyze the situation. We waited a short time in the waiting room before she was called for the X-ray. As she got up, she turned and handed me her coat, scarf and gloves. I reached for her pocketbook, she hesitated for a moment and then said, “No, I will take my pocketbook with me.” Now, I know medical care is expensive but I had no idea that X-ray machines now required you to insert quarters.

John Kasun writes from his home in Duncansville where he focuses on the meaning of life in his spare time. He says it is simpler than figuring out the connection between a woman and her pocketbook.