GUCCELLA DE VIL

What’s in Kristi Noem’s purse?

By Nancy Ford

Well, well. It turns out that Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem and I have something in common.
No, I’ve never shot a puppy or a goat. Shame on you.

Several years ago, my purse was stolen.

OK, OK, it wasn’t a purse, exactly; you know me so well. It was a briefcase that held a cassette recorder and a tape. But this was not just any tape. It was a recording of an in-person interview with Olivia Newton John, herself.

Olivia Newton John! Crikey!

Olivia was in town that day in the ’80s for the grand opening of her Galleria store, Koala Blue. The store carried casualwear like T-shirts, shorts, sloppy socks, wrist sweatbands, etc. Think The GAP, but with an Aussie accent.

Instead of piping in standard pop musak, Koala Blue played an endless loop of ONJ hits, which is not the worst thing in the world. It also had a Milk Bar, which is the worst thing in the world.

After the interview, I stopped at a local Shell station for gas. This was before the convenience of pay-at-the-pump. Still distracted by meeting Olivia, I left my car unlocked with my briefcase in plain sight while I dashed into the store.

It was gone in 60 seconds.

My biggest regret is missing the look on the thief’s face when he pressed play on that recorder and heard Olivia’s unmistakable voice. But instead of singing “Hopelessly Devoted to You”, she was talking up her new line of down-under wear.

I recalled that long-ago theft when news broke that Kristi Noem’s purse had been stolen as she dined with her grandkids at Capital Burger, a D.C. restaurant. Maybe her not-so-secure security detail was busy loading up on purple pickled eggs at the salad bar instead of guarding her. It was Easter, after all.
Kristi’s purse was more than a purse, though. It was a $4,400 Gucci handbag. That’s a lot of Gucci.
It carried two phones — one, probably, for personal calls to her family and her Botox aesthetician. The other was likely a hotline to the Oval Office.

Wanna bet she had a text from the Boss Man that very night? “I love Capital Berder. Of course I know where you are. Order me a double double to go. No, make that two double doubles. That’s eight, right? Whatever. No lettuce or tomato. Extra ketchup. Large Diet Coke. MAGA!”

Kristi’s Gucci also held $3,000 in cash, her Louis Vuitton wallet, keys, passport, some blank checks and her Department of Hoeland Security badge. (Typo? You decide.)

Wait — $3,000 in cash? That’s a lot of mad money, as my grandmother used to call it.

But $3,000 in cash isn’t mad money. It’s blind, seething “You better run and not look back!” rage money. Three thousand dollars in cash is flee-the-country money. Remember, Kristi was also carrying her passport.

Notably, the following items were not in Kristi’s bag:

  • Tampons. At 53, she’s probably done with all that. Maybe not, though; she often seems crampy. Either way, carrying tampons beyond the time of one’s own needs is just sisterly. Has she never heard an anonymous plea coming from an adjacent restroom stall, crying, “Uh-oh, who’s got a tampon?” If hers is not one of the several voices that immediately responds, “What size?” or “I got you, girl,” that’s just rude.
  • Lifesavers. The inside of every grandmother’s purse should smell like Pep-O-Mint. That’s comfort smell right there, and Tic Tacs don’t cut it. Or maybe Kristi prefers Juicy Fruit. She seems like a gum cracker.
  • Kleenex. What decent grandmother isn’t prepared to pull a wadded-up Kleenex from her purse, dampen it with spit and vigorously rub schmutz off her grandkid’s face? That’s Mee-Maw 101.
  • Tums. If she meets with her boss on the regular, she needs to keep
    antacids handy.
  • Lipstick and a mirror. Don’t pretend Kristi doesn’t compulsively check her pucker.
  • A hairbrush and hairspray, because her just-fcked coif isn’t going to fck itself.
  • A red microcopy of the New Testament, including palm-sized Psalms. My saintly aunts never left home without it. The print is too small to actually read, but reading it isn’t the point. It’s the Armor of God, dammit, and Kristi is definitely a sniper for the Lord.
  • Condoms. Just for fun.
  • Pepper spray. Just for fun.
  • Ketchup packets, should she need to fake an assassination attempt.
  • A pillbox for Advil and her government-issued single tab of cyanide. No leaks!
  • A handgun, in case she’s accosted by a puppy or a goat.
  • A disposable diaper for her youngest grandchild or her President.
  • Directions to a party. Specifically, the Republican Party, because these days nobody understands where the hell
    it’s gone.

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