(This post is dedicated to those of my friends and family who have said that I have been too serious lately and have lost my sense of humor ... I beg to differ with you. Please see below).
Hi. My name is Barb (Flower Bear is my alter-ego ... she’s the good one), and I am a purse-aholic. I am a compulsive purse shopper. I’ve made the decision to come out of the closet, so to speak, and seek the help that I need. The other reason for coming out of the closet is because the shelf with the purses on it is sagging and about to collapse.
I don’t know when I was afflicted with this disease. It’s not like my mother was very big on purses. She had a good, sturdy one for every day, a nicer one for Sundays and holiday visiting, and one little black number for weddings and other important occasions. The only other bag she ever carried was a shopping bag. I keep thinking how much she would have loved the current fashion of reusable tote bags, all those cute styles with the logos on them and ... but I digress I think it was somewhere in the middle to late ‘60's when The British Invasion came to our shores and people like Twiggy and the Beatles’ girlfriends had those neat bags: big ones, little ones, shoulder ones, wild colors and designs, those great geometric patterns, the Mod Look ... oh, sorry, I got carried away again. See what I mean? Anyway, I think that’s when it started. It was about the same time I started buying wigs and hair pieces but I was able to let those go. This one is tougher.
I’ve brought in some “tough love” help on this one. My oldest granddaughter (the one who is making me a great-grandma soon) has become the Purse Police. She made me swear an oath that if I bought a new purse, I had to give one away. I did it to make her happy (how can you deny a women who is Momma-To-Be beautiful one minute and in Hormone Hell the next?). Whenever we are in a store and I get near the purse and accessories department, I break out in a cold sweat and my eye starts to twitch. Before you can say Vera Bradley there is a death grip on my arm and she is pulling me in the opposite direction (it must be those pre-natal vitamins - she’s got a grip like the wrestler she used to be in Junior High). “You don’t need another one and you know it,” she says to me in the voice I used on her when she was 5 and wanted another cookie ...don’t you just hate it when they use it back on you?
Recently I was in a store all by myself. I was looking for a new pair of sneakers. The Kids Department was between the Shoe Department and the Accessories with a divider in-between, but that did not stop me from getting a whiff of that heady aroma that can only be described as ... leather purses
I am here to admit to you all that on that day I actually thought to myself, “She’ll never know. She’s not even here. If she looks in the closet, I can say I was just trying to decide which other one I was giving away. Besides, who’s the adult here? I used to change her diapers. Now’s she’s policing my closet? No one has to know ...” It just got ugly after that.
I am happy to report that I was able to put the purse down and walk away (but it was so cute, a red one ... I don’t have a red one ... with little pockets on the front for my MP3 player and keys...)but I don’t know if I’ll be that strong the next time. So I am starting a Purse-Aholics Anonymous group so we can call or text each other whenever we find ourselves in that situation and need someone to help us out of the store. For that matter, we have to pledge that we will not enter a department or specialty store that carries purses without a sponsor or chaperon.
It’s a tough world out there and it’s about to get tougher - the Fall styles are coming out! Won’t you join me and help stamp out this disease? Bless you.
And so it is.
P.S. If you crochet the purses yourself, does that count?
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