Monday, May 18, 2015

Purse Talk...


She flings me about, here and there, the sofa, a chair, more often than not, floors of the world. Scuffed, battered, streaked with grime, I reckon she doesn't care. Good thing my maker built me tough, with a strong leather. If you were bent as often as me, you'd be glad too.

I carry a heavy load. Notebooks, always notebooks, and pens. Lots. For mad scribblings on waiting benches everywhere, hair salons, doctors, legal offices, you name it. The usual make up bags too, a lipstick here and there, though I don't know why. She isn't the sort that sneaks out of a dinner or drinks social and reapply in the bathroom.  She is too busy yapping. Her wallet is tiny, the kind that unfolds its three sections into a long rectangle, with pictures of her son in the center.  She's got all sorts of bills in there, from Australia, Brazil, Europe, Japan and god knows where else. A right mess she always has to sort through, from which to dig out the right currency even when she just needs a cup of coffee.

Occasionally she decides to unload me, with a thick stack of newsprints under the heading of "New York Times" perched nearby and the fragrance of coffee perfuming the air.  She dumps out bundles of receipts, snack bars and expired make ups into the nearest bin. Odd coins into a glass jar on the coffee counter. I sit down, listen to the coins clink against the glass, soft jazz overhead, with a huge sigh out of me, a goofy grin near my buckle.

I'm middle-aged now, counting in purse years. Some days I feel too full, other days, empty.

I don't know what ails me, but some days, I can't go on... I feel I've had enough, ready to toss my marbles, and commit purse retirement. Then she cleans me, inside and out, with the softest cloth, finest oil, faintest whispers and fragrance permeates into the threads of my fabric.

From the outside, people find me European on account of my slick curves, fine leather material and understated appearance.  I blush easily, giving me a pinkish hue, but no one could ever tell so I am basically beige all the time. But if you opened my snaps, unzipped my inner compartments, under the flap covering a back pocket, you would find a plainer white label.  In simple black letters, it says, "Made in China".

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