Once upon a time, my pocketbook was a functional yet personal item. I’m not the type who needs a chic and trendy accessory to match my wardrobe. I do need something big enough to carry the contents of my house, and then some. I’m often the target of teasing from the peanut gallery, aka my family, when I reach deep into my bag, Mary Poppins-style, and pull out whatever anyone needs. They think my bag is bottomless and make requests: “Can you please hold my wallet?” “My keys?” “My bicycle?”