Pocket fan

I bought a couple of pocket fans, those little battery operated blasters common among the menopausal, for the amusement of Graham and Saskia. I added a third one to the cart in case they had a friend over. That's all.
But it was only the two of them that night and the third fan sat on my desk. I thought of it, only occasionally, when circumstances trapped me in the wall of hot water we call weather in South Georgia.
Forget what they say, it's the heat AND the humidity. But pocket fans are for small children and old women. I've still got weeks before I'm 45.
It might have come in handy walking the dog yesterday, but there are no more than three grey hairs on my head, thank you very much.
 I was cleaning off my desk this morning and realized I didn't really have a place to keep it. I took it out of the package, just to see if it worked. Pages ruffled as I bathed my face with cool, smooth , non-edible air. I put it in my purse.
There's more room there than my desk.
And I might run into an old woman or small child who needs it.