“As crazy and geeky as this part may seem—”
“This part?” I shrieked.
Dana brushed away the barb as he might a mosquito and carried on, “Because I like to keep it handy, I clip my Blackberry to this epaulet.” He pulled out a set of wires hidden in the collar. “That’s why it’s tech enabled,” he said, pointing to the itty-bitty mesh pocket into which earpieces for an iPod or phone reside.
“What the hell? Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, circling around to Dana’s back, where I’d caught a glimpse of a knife in a leather pouch fixed to his belt. “Hey, Inspector Gadget, why isn’t that in a pocket?”
Dana laughed and said, as though speaking to an addled child, “You can’t bring the Leatherman on a plane.” He shook his head in amusement.
“Yeah, good point,” I conceded.
I examined the contents of my purse as they were laid on the table: three shades of red lipstick, two tubes of sparkly lip gloss, one tampon (not needed for at least two weeks), a mirror, iPhone, wallet, mint-flavored toothpicks, antibacterial liquid, a handful of hair ties and clips, a notebook, pen, prescription sunglasses, Listerine strips, and business cards. Do I really need all of this stuff to be with me at all times? I wondered how much easier life might be if I had an assigned pocket for every item and didn’t have to dig through my purse to find things. Suddenly, as with one of those 3-D Magic Eye posters that baffles and irritates until that happy moment in which the previously camouflaged image of a sailboat or dragon coalesces, Dana’s geeky obsession made perfect sense.