It wasn’t always like this.
The seasons would be separated into winter and summer. Winter meant black and brown. Summer meant white and tan. Life was fairly simple.
And there were just a few handbags in my closet.
But then, one day, that all changed.
I began to look at handbags with a different eye. They suddenly changed from boring necessities to exciting accessories. I drooled over the Hermes, coveted the Pradas, dreamed of the Chanels and lusted after the Chloes. The handles, the zippers, the shapes and curves – they all intrigued me. Feel the leather on this one! And did you notice the workmanship on that one!? There were hobos, satchels, backpacks, totes and messengers – and they all had me in their clutches.
Before too long, my closet grew too small for my collection. Although I had to forsake the bags whose prices climbed into the stratosphere, if you do the math it’s easy to see how buying a lot of pocketbooks – even those non-designer ones – can be a rather expensive undertaking. My husband grew impatient at my need to indulge. And eventually, even my patience began to wear thin.
For one thing, it’s a huge pain to change over to another purse. Invariably, some contents get left behind and the next thing I know, my checkbook is gone and I can’t remember where I last saw it…and I’m frantically calling the bank for new checks. But then again, it does have it’s advantages, I guess, like the time I needed to go to the bank because I had one dollar in my wallet and discovered a $20 bill when I changed over to a different bag.
But really; how many bags does one woman need?
I have actually have begun to hate my bags. My collection simply overwhelms me. Not only has the inside of my bag begun to look like the inside of my junk drawer… but it also resembles a vast wasteland.
I’ve decided that bags are only an excuse for collecting stuff. Especially big bags (which I favor, but my back and shoulders don’t). It’s too easy to throw anything and everything into them.
Just a few discoveries I’ve made along the way:
- Balled-up tissues (rather embarrassing when someone asks you for a tissue and you hand them a used one)
- Paper clips (you never know when you’ll need one)
- Cookie crumbs (somehow they found a way in)
- Already-chewed gum (probably got separated from the balled-up tissue)
- Dust bunnies (I’m stumped with this one)
- Advils (usually found when I need one for a splitting headache; but who knows how long it’s been in there and if I might get poisoned?)
- TicTacs (they used to be white…)
- Leaky ballpoint pens (the worst)
- Old receipts (do I really need to be reminded of past purchases?)
- An old cracked compact whose remaining powder has turned to dust (do they even call them “compacts”anymore?)
- Old, bent tampons (even though I’m thoroughly done with that and have been for five years)
- An empty bottle of Purell with a loose cap (uh oh)
Here’s my plea. Please tell me there’s ONE bag out there that will make me happy. I don’t really ask for much. All I need is a purse that is:
- The right size to hold everything, but not so big that people ask me where I’m headed for vacation.
- The right color that will match everything, be it 90 degrees or below zero.
- The right style so I can go from the gym to a black tie dinner without worrying that I’ll feel bad about my purse.
- The right shape so that things don’t fall into a black hole, leaving me frantically searching for my car keys, convinced I’ll need to call a locksmith to get me into my car, or worse, find a common criminal to break into my car for me.
- Small enough to carry without threat to my posture but large enough to hold everything in the event of a natural disaster.
Then I may just have to continue to live as a Bag Lady. At least, a little while longer.
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