Zombie Apocalypse Handbag

          "There's some breath mints in my handbag if you want," my niece said, gesturing with her phone to a rather large bag with stylish horizontal stripes, which was sitting on the floor by the sofa.
          "What have you got in here, M?" I asked, struggling to lift it. "This bag weighs more than my car."
          "Oh, you know—just my stuff."
          Giving up my battle to hoist the bag off the ground, I sank to my knees and started fishing for the mints. I pulled out a makeup kit. A flat iron. A HUGE bottle of aspirin.
       

This handbag contains a surprising variety of items.
You may need all of them sooner than you think.

          "That's a lot of aspirin," I said, putting the bottle on the floor beside the bag.
          "Come the zombie apocalypse, you'll thank me," M said, without even looking up from her phone.
          I reached back in. A mateless earring. A packet of Kleenex. Several bottles of nail polish. Scotch tape. A catnip mouse. I fished deeper. Assorted washers. A paintbrush. A towel.
          I held it up. "You carry some random towel around with you?" I said.
          "It's not random. It has large friendly polka dots on it. And come the zombie apocalypse, you'll be grateful I have that towel."
          "Ooooo-kay," I said, pretending to humor her, and reached back into the bag, still searching for those elusive mints.
          Another catnip mouse. A serving spoon. A dented brass doorknob.
          A brace and bit.
          "Do you even know what this is, M?" I demanded, waving the brace and bit around.
          "It's one of those things like Gramps has. And I think that, come the zombie apocalypse, you'll be begging me for it." She still hadn't looked up from her phone.
          I set it down next to the handbag. I supposed it was always possible that, when the zombie hordes were attacking the living and sucking their brains out through their noses, I would indeed have some extremely pressing holes to drill by hand,  but it just didn't seem like the most likely of all scenarios. I sighed and fished back in what by now I was thinking of as the Zombie Apocalypse Handbag.
          A thumb drive. A leaking tube of lip gloss. A mateless mitten. The U. S. Military Pocket Survival Guide: Plus Evasion and Recovery.
          I waved the Pocket Survival Guide at M. "You're not thinking about joining up, are you?"
          "I'm a high-school student, Aunt Nancy," she said in her explaining-the-spectacularly-obvious-to-the-shockingly-dimwitted voice. "It's worse than being in a war. The chapter on camouflage alone is worth the price of the book. Plus, come the zombie apocalypse, I think you will be wanting to borrow it."
          I sighed and stuck my hand once again into the Zombie Apocalypse Handbag. Bingo! Finally, the mints I was looking for. I took one, and put the container back in the Zombie Apocalypse Handbag.
          I'm sure I'll be grateful M has them, come the zombie apocalypse.