“Alas, poor purse!” Professor Pembroke held aloft a gaudy leather handbag, addressing it with all the gravity of Hamlet contemplating Yorick’s skull. The university’s most eccentric English literature professor had developed an peculiar attachment to this muscular accessory, much to his students’ bewilderment.
“But sir,” ventured Timothy, a freshman who still hadn’t learned when to hold his tongue, “why do you carry that… rather robust purse everywhere?”
The professor’s eyes gleamed with theatrical intensity. “Why, dear boy! This is no mere receptacle for mundane possessions. This is my confidant, my companion, my…” He paused for dramatic effect, “…my strength!”
The classroom tittered nervously. Professor Pembroke was known for his Shakespearean flourishes, but this seemed extreme even by his standards.
“Laugh not, you callow youth!” he declared, sweeping his tweed jacket dramatically. “This purse, this mighty fortress of leather and brass, holds secrets dark and deep as Macbeth’s conscience!”
Sarah, a literature major who took everything too seriously, leaned forward. “What kind of secrets, Professor?”
“Ah!” He clutched the purse to his chest. “Like fair Cordelia, some truths are better left unspoken. Though unlike that tragic tale, this one has… shall we say, more weight to it?”
Indeed, the purse did seem unusually heavy, its sides bulging ominously. Students had speculated about its contents for months - everything from rare first editions to illicit substances had been suggested.
“But soft!” The professor suddenly exclaimed, “What light through yonder zipper breaks?” He began to open the purse with exaggerated slowness.
The class held its collective breath. Even the usually disinterested Jake in the back row stopped scrolling through his phone.
“Behold!” Professor Pembroke reached inside with flourish and produced… dumbbells. Three sets of them, ranging from five to twenty pounds.
“You see, my dear pupils, a sound mind requires a sound body! Between lectures, I perform my exercises. One must keep fit while contemplating the human condition!”
The students stared in stunned silence as their professor proceeded to do bicep curls while reciting Sonnet 18.
“But professor,” Sarah finally spoke, “isn’t that rather… unconventional?”
“Conventional? HAH!” He set down the weights with a thud. “Was Romeo conventional? Was Hamlet conventional? Nay, I say! Besides…” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “the faculty gym has been occupied by the Philosophy Department. They’re conducting an endless debate on whether working out actually exists.”
The bell rang, signaling the end of class. As students filed out, still processing what they’d witnessed, Professor Pembroke returned the weights to his purse and patted it affectionately.
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,” he murmured, “creeps in this petty pace from day to day, until the last syllable of recorded time… or until my shoulder gives out from carrying this blasted thing.”
The next day, Professor Pembroke was absent. A note on his door read: “Class cancelled due to severe hernia. The purse sends its regards.”