TheBanyanTree: Bag Lady

[Maria Gibson]

"I *hate you!*

You represent the person I have become, the one I don't want to be 
anymore!  You, you big slob filled with useless junk I might need one 
day; well where has that gotten me?!?  I'll tell you where, with a sore 
shoulder and a sloppy nightmare of a mess I can find not one damn thing 
in at the time I need it, *THAT"S* where!"

~~**KERCHUNK**~~

And with that I kicked my purse around the office just a few times with 
just a few more unkind words, just for good measure. 

My co-workers have become accustomed to my antics but this was strange 
even from me.  My big, sides splitting, every day black in color, 
compartments to hold everything one might need, unhip, uncool, 
grandmotherly purse had suddenly become like battery acid on fresh 
sheets.  Holes of discontentment and loathing chewed their way through 
to my soul as I longed for a different kind of purse.  Small, bright in 
color and without enough room to carry even those things I thought to be 
most essential, let alone any 'in case' crap.  Oh no, I was done and 
done with that kind of business. 

Like two small clicks followed by a huge CLACK the wheels began their 
motion.  I had admired my sister-in-law's cute-as-can-be purse just the 
evening before (click) which had swirls and dots in lots of bright 
colors.  The next day, having received my Avon order, I discovered I had 
ordered a small bag (click) which is bright orange with yellow detailing 
and then, as I held up my fortunate, albeit unknown purchase, it hit me 
(CLACK) right between the eyes from where a good bit of my 
discontentment of late has been coming.  I have gone to great lengths to 
step from comfort zones and bring forth the shiny person I am.  Even 
when people are squinting and wincing and complaining of the light, I 
shine on.  But wait, what is that eclipse?  What is the blight on the 
work in progress that I have become lately...?

Well, lookey here, my old pal, sensible purse.  Now, sensible purse was 
a good friend, but from the fine cracks in the cheap faux fake nuagahide 
straps to the chewed corners of its faithful and wide bottom, it had 
been good but enough was finally enough.  No more to shout of who I am 
even as other things on and about my person try to outshout it with a 
new description.  No more!  No more maze of zippers and abyss of 
pockets!  No more dark and drab existence trying to make every day, 
every outfit, every holiday and occasion and unhappy or happy event bit 
fitted and molded into something to which one can take the same 
dreadfully boring purse.

No more.

I have a started a collection, to date there are three.  A cutie pie 
number, white with three large and colorful flowers, so hip and so chic, 
even I can pull this off.  A small black number with which I really can 
arrive to any number of events or occasions (but not all of them) and, 
of course, the grand diva of them all, the little orange one.  I assure 
you, there will be more.  I am really happy with these turns of events, 
although, I have to admit that there was a moment of panic, a modicum of 
anxiety one might say, as I realized that there was precious little to 
be handed over in the transfer.  In fact, I could pick up the old hag, I 
mean bag, and walk out the door and not be missing but one or two true 
essentials.  But that's ok, that's alright.  I'm learning, and if there 
ain't a curve, it might not be the right lesson and I want no part of 
that anyway.

Beware the midlife crisis.  It may change your pursenality altogether.

Maria