Size doesn't matter, but even in the softly lit bar, I couldn't help noticing it was bigger than mine.
With its generous proportions slumped sullenly on the table, it remained oblivious to the turmoil within.
The rummaging began as a gentle search and then became increasingly frantic.
The three of us looking on could only empathise with the rummager.
We knew what it was like to whirr around the black holes of our handbags like demented washing machine agitators trying to find something vital.
We knew that the more desperate you become to find whatever it is lurking in those gloomy depths, the less likely you are to retrieve it.
No matter how big or small the sought item is - a pen, lipstick, business cards, a wallet, your specs, diary, gloves or cellphone - all have the ability to mysteriously disappear when you are looking for them. Instead of finding what you want, you are most likely to plunge your hand into leaked ballpoint pen ink, spilled hand cream or a long forgotten (and now half-unwrapped) sticky sweet or piece of chewing gum.
In this case it was car keys missing in inaction.
One of us may have suggested she slow down. Approach the problem systematically. This advice went unheeded.
An interior handbag light would be the answer, the rummager reckoned.
I agreed. In my technologically savvy way I said something vaguely intelligent about using LEDs (light emitting diodes for those not so TS).
It also struck me a solution to the handbag abyss could involve sewing in hundreds of light emitting sequins - fashionable, yet practical. Or maybe that just shows I've been frustrated by the absence of a ballroom dancer in the family.
An online search soon revealed inventors had not ignored the issue. One designer boldly decreed back in 2003 that in less than five years interior light would be just as common in handbags as mobile telephones were at that time.
Then there was a brilliant Brunel University student who thought up a solar-powered device. It used a solar cell on the outside of the bag to trap energy from sunlight, which was then stored in an internal battery which lit up the lining.
The lining, according to a BBC news item, was made from an electroluminescent material similar to that found in mobile phones. The bag's zip acted as a switch with the bag going dark when the zip was closed or after 15 seconds if it was accidentally left open.
That was back in 2005. Has anyone seen one yet?
In the meantime, what are we supposed to do? Snaffle a few glow-worms from somewhere and keep them as handbag pets? Trendier than a Chihuahua and not as likely to leave an embarrassing puddle. Sadly, I don't think the habitat would be conducive and there would be the risk of raising the ire of environmentalists.
Strapping on a headlight would solve the problem, but you'd have to wear it all day because you would never be able to find it in your handbag. Fashion accessory or nutcase indicator? The latter, I fear.
One website quoted research, which, despite my TS status I could not track down, that on average, women spend 76 days of their lives looking for things in their handbags. I estimated my own search time would total between 22 and 44 days if I manage to survive until 80.
Is it only mere mortals who engage in this frenzied activity? Would Margaret Thatcher have been a handbag scrabbler or would Denis have been assigned to pluck out the required item at just the right moment?
Closer to home, what about Judith Collins? I found a photo of her taken in China last year showing her with a voluminous number at her feet. Has not getting to the bottom of her handbag been one of her problems?
I am led to believe that bag may have contained a book called Martha doesn't say sorry! with Martha crossed out and replaced with Judith. To paraphrase the blurb about this Samantha Berger book - adorably clad in her pink dress and matching headband Judith is ready to do just about anything, except say those three little words.
But when this sweet but stubborn otter learns that niceties like cookies, piggyback rides and hugs are for people who apologise, our mischievous heroine learns the ultimately rewarding feeling that comes with saying she's sorry.
Also festering in the bottom of the bag may have been a book by Trudy Ludwig simply entitled Sorry! which raises the issue of whether an apology counts if you don't really mean it.
Maybe, just maybe, a handbag light and a little reading and reflection could have saved sweet but stubborn Judith from herself.
- Elspeth McLean is a Dunedin writer.
