Once I carried a striped cloth bag (that I purchased for $2
from Target) as a purse. I used it until the handle started to tear from the
weight of being over-stuffed. Another time I used a mini hand-tooled leather
backpack, I spent what I consider quite a bit on that (meaning more than $2).
I’ve never really bought into the designer handbag hoopla. I don’t much care
what is cool, and anytime I approach an accessory with a large price tag I can
hear my Bohemian Grandmother in my mind, “That’s a sin.” She used to say that
whenever she found something highly over-priced. Like $2.99 for spearmint jelly
leaves.
We never discussed handbags, but I can hear her just the
same. Though once on a trip to a city with the initials NYC I did purchase a
few fancy bags from a guy with a walkie talkie. Apparently Dooney & Bourke
and Coach bags mean something to someone, because the recipients of the bags
were pleased and I never mentioned they were $10. Cash only. I just wanted to
know what it was like to buy something from one of those vendors that yank the
metal doors over their shops whenever the cops drive by. Don’t judge me.
Writers need to know this stuff.
Normally my handbag criteria is all about function first. Is
there a place in the bag for my phone so I don’t have to root for it? You so do
not want your phone blasting a Vampire Weekend ringtone while you dig for it
during Vespers at the local monastery. Not that fashion never comes into play. I
like fun stuff too, or a pretty bag now and then. But every single time it has
led to the dreaded buyer’s remorse. The most expensive purse I ever owned was
purchased on impulse at Macy’s. It was made of buttery soft leather, and once I
touched it I was lost. For at least a week I enjoyed that beautiful bag. It fit
beneath the seat in front of me on the airplane too. It fit into the hotel safe
even. I lifted it out of the hotel safe. It had absorbed the black paint inside
the safe, so that the leather now had black markings over it. I flipped it
over. The bottom was now blue, the color of airplane carpet blue. That buttery
soft leather was apparently blotter paper. I should have returned it to the
store. Like I keep receipts. (Not entirely true, I keep them all, it is locating them at will that I have trouble with.)
So for some time I’ve been more of a bargain pocketbook
hunter. I found an excellent black and silver bag that met my under the
airplane seat/hotel safe/fits on the console of my time travel jeep criteria. I
carried it for ages, and this spring I spotted a lovely bright bag and picked it up.
It performed very well while traveling, though I did notice that the airplane
had an unpleasant odor. Not to mention the hotel. It wasn’t until I returned
home, and spent several days cleaning my room, and randomly throwing clothes back
into the laundry to re-wash that I realized that the odor haunting me was
coming from the new handbag. I
tossed it into my closet (because I couldn’t just THROW IT AWAY, my Bohemian
Grandmother would haunt me for pity’s sake!) and went in search of a new bag.
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An Actual Wee Purse |
Perhaps I should not admit that I went through racks of
purses at TJMaxx sniffing them, but I did. This was just hours before I was
leaving on a trip into the Canadian wilderness. Dear Hubby couldn’t fathom why
I had to have a new bag to spend two weeks holed up in the bush beneath
mosquito netting. It wasn’t the bag! I couldn’t take the 13 hour car ride with
stinky purse. So I made an emergency trip to pick up a new bag. Scored a pretty
awesome gold bag too, stuffed more things into it than would fit, forced the
zipper shut, tossed it into the truck and we were off. A few hours into the
trip I started. “Do you smell something?” To which they both replied that they
didn’t. I picked up the new bag. Sheesh. Faint, but the same smell. “Smell my
purse,” I said. To which my son replied firmly, “No.” “Oh, don’t be a little
girl, smell my purse.” “No.” Dear Hubby had to. He married me. I have to go on
fishing trips even if I don’t fish. He has to put up with random purse sniffing
demands.
Dear Hubby said my new purse smelled just like a new purse. Man. They don’t smell it…maybe it’s
allergies. Maybe I have some weird allergies where it makes things smell bad.
Maybe it’s migraine…maybe it’s something else, what is inside the bag that
might smell? Cue me rooting through every item in the bag and then vehicle
searching for the source and returning to the new handbag. “You really can’t
smell anything?” To which they both replied, “Nope. Nothing.” “Well, I have a
cold though,” admitted one. “Yeah, my allergies are bad. I can’t smell a thing
lately,” said the other.
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Wee Purse II |
Let me just add this caveat. You do not EVER want to be on a
fishing vacation with two guys who can’t smell anything. A few days into the
trip the propane refrigerator died. With fish in it. “Um…do you guys smell
something?” “Nope. Nothing.” “Well, I have a cold though…what does it smell
like?” “Um…sorta like DEAD FISH!” But I digress.
During the entire vacation I kept my new purse inside
several plastic bags to contain the smell. Frankly after the dead fish in the
refrigerator it seemed a small thing. Once I returned home and started
unpacking, I let it air out inside my closet – to dissipate the scent somewhat.
Determined to live with it, I’ve been carrying it around in my hand. You know,
as opposed to over my shoulder? Further from the nose. Yesterday I had other
women in the car with me and stinky purse and someone said. “What is that
smell?!” This actually thrilled me! They could smell it! “What does it smell
like?” I asked innocently, hoping against hope for some validation. One of them
blurted, “A dirty hamster cage.” THANK YOU! I’d been thinking wet diaper, but
same thing.
Needless to say I am once again in the market for a new
handbag. Any suggestions? I’d like to offer my wee bags free to you, but
mailing them would be a pain. Am thinking I’ll just post this blog on a local
free cycle page and see what happens. As my guys proved, not everyone can
smell, right?