Man Purses or “Murses”

IMG_2523Last week I wrote a post called Manscaping, which discussed male grooming habits. Becoming hairless is apparently quite the fashion trend in the U.S. these days. I don’t know if this is actually true, but I heard from a reliable source (Jimmy Kimmel) that 76% of American adults have removed most of their body hair below the neck. I’m one of the 24% who does not. And I happen to have a significant volume of body hair below my neck.

Anyway, a blogger, “Busy Mom,” commented on that post, I would love to hear your thoughts on the “murse” or should I say, “man purse.” I told Busy Mom that I’m not a fan of man purses and that I would gladly pick up the gauntlet she threw down.

And so I started crafting a post explaining why I don’t like man purses. Or, for that matter, fanny packs. But I was having trouble getting things rolling. I was struggling to find the right words to describe what it is that I don’t like about man purses.

And that’s when it occurred to me that no one really cares whether I am or am not a fan of the “murse.” It’s just a personal opinion, an individual preference. I don’t possess any special knowledge or insights beyond knowing what I like and what I don’t like.

Besides, I am a “live and let live” kind of a guy. You do your thing and I’ll do mine. As long as you’re not hurting yourself or anyone around you, or are attempting to impose your will upon others, I’m fine. So if you’re the kind of man who is comfortable wearing a man purse, hey, whatever floats your boat, right?

Furthermore, I’m not an expert in men’s fashion accessories. Not even close. In fact, given my preference for comfort over style, I may be the least qualified person to discuss that topic. Hell, if I could, I’d wear my soft, comfy pajamas 24/7.

So with these caveats noted, I have decided to not proceed with writing a post explaining that men who carry man purses look pompous and prissy or that men who wear fanny packs, particularly in front — where they should be called “belly packs” — look ridiculous.


Solitary Man


I’ve written several posts lately that are based upon songs I’d grown up with. When I saw today’s one-word prompt, “solitary,” I was reminded of yet another such song, Neil Diamond’s “Solitary Man.” The refrain of that song goes:

Don’t know that I will but until I can find me
A girl who’ll stay and won’t play games behind me
I’ll be what I am
A solitary man
Solitary man

I didn’t get married until I was 32, which, back in the day, was considered to be old.

But then I met a girl who I knew would stay and not play games behind me. We married. I am no longer a solitary man.

The Property Brothers


“It’s too tiny,” Maggie insisted.

“What is?” Saul asked.

“Oh my god,” she answered. “Open your eyes. There’s barely room in there for one person at a time.”

Saul looked at the partially opened door to their master bathroom. “It’s functional.”

“That’s not a master bathroom,” Maggie countered. “It’s a small closet with plumbing.”

“It is what it is and it does what it’s supposed to do,” Saul said.

“Fine,” said Maggie. “I’m calling up those guys from HGTV. You know, those two guys who fix houses.”

“You mean The Property Bothers?” Saul chuckled. “Good luck with that!”

(98 words)

Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers challenge from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.