A TRUE BAG LADY – August 2009

A TRUE BAG LADY

By Margie Harrell

 

They go by many names depending on what part of the country you are from. Handbags, totes, clutches, bolsas and the one I have never been able to understand, pocketbook. Even on a good day mine wouldn’t fit into my pocket. Whether they are five inches wide or three feet deep I call them purses.

I am in awe of any woman who doesn’t carry a purse. However does she deal with life’s little emergencies when they crop up? Anyone who has raised kids knows you had better have band-aids, antibiotics and cookies at the ready or your day can go downhill real fast. I just found out my new daughter-in-law doesn’t even own a purse, can you believe that?  She also wears skin-tight jeans with no visible pockets. She tells me all she ever needs is her car key and Blackberry. I would hate to be at close range when she lets out with a hearty sneeze.

Many spring-clean the house when the weather turns nice, I tackle my purses. Do I really need that empty aspirin bottle and what is that gooey mess in the side pocket? I finally gave up carrying my blood pressure cuff around. I decided I might need my portable hair dryer instead.

When asked “if your house was on fire, what would try to save” the answer for me is easy, the purse.  I could literally live for days off the contents. Mints, granola bars, water, cheese and crackers plus a few Mexican pesos and Canadian dollars just in case we are ever invaded by our neighbors.

Living in Las Vegas it was only a matter of time before it happen.  I was mugged and as I lay on the ground with blood spurting from a head wound, the last thing I saw was my beautiful purse being spirited away on the back of a bicycle.  I wasn’t so concerned about the money but the twit had absconded with my favorite Ralph Lauren bag.  Hours later when my son, the ex-cop, went hunting for the “perp” he followed a bloody tire track and lo and behold, there it was, empty but undamaged.  My aching head suddenly felt better.

At last count I own 37 purses/totes/handbags, you name it but in my defense, some of them have been gifts. Television info-mercials are my downfall. The other day I saw a new purse that has interchangeable outer covers. You just unsnap one and slip on a different color. It has my name written all over it.

Today I decided to take the bull by the horns so I took daughter-in-law purse shopping. She ended up choosing something that wouldn’t hold a roll of life savers. Oh well, I have planted the seed, my work is done. On the way home I noticed my neighbor is having a huge garage sale. Perhaps she has a bag or two she wants to unload. I’ll just go and have a quick look.