I credit Julie-bird for getting me into handbags. At the height of my opulence I had a couple dozen of them, and I went so far as to change my bag daily, depending on the rest of my attire. My move to Washington put an end to that excess, with only two small bags surviving the downsizing.
The one I carry now has a special significance. It once belonged to my mother. It was an extravagance that I had to talk her into – spending more than a few pennies on a handbag she had fallen in love with. I did talk her into that extravagance, and she carried it with delight for several months.
Then she stood shaking her head at me, assessing my handbag selection to accompany me to Washington. “Where will you put your wine??” she lamented. And with that she emptied her bag and pushed it to me.
The bag is a black hole. I swear it’s like the Bermuda Triangle in there. I’ve had a number of items disappear into it’s canyon, eluding my feverish searches, only to surface days later winking at the fact that they were right there all along. But I must admit, it suits me. I can haul just about anything in that handbag, including my wine. Thanks, Mom :)