{"id":5197,"date":"2017-06-20T09:39:05","date_gmt":"2017-06-20T09:39:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/?p=5197"},"modified":"2017-06-20T09:39:05","modified_gmt":"2017-06-20T09:39:05","slug":"musings-of-a-handbag","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/?p=5197","title":{"rendered":"Musings of a Handbag"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>Oh! Ow! What\u2019s bearing down on me now? A tin, a tin of tomatoes. What have I done to deserve this?<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I can hardly bear to think back to my previous life, just hanging around with my chums in a shop window in Genoa, with nothing to do but watch the endless parade of tourists and locals. What\u2019s more I was EMPTY \u2013 I didn\u2019t know I was born! But all that changed the minute she clocked me. I knew my number was up when I felt her intense gaze, saw her assessing the length of my strap, the colour of my hardware. Within 20 seconds she\u2019d come into the shop, and in another 20 I was sprawled on the counter in front of her. I could tell from the excitement in her voice that she had found \u2018The One\u2019.<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Apparently I \u2018ticked all the boxes\u2019: I was a nice chestnut colour, so would go with all her clothes and she\u2019d never need to change her handbag over; my strap was the right length, my rings and zips were silver, I had an external pocket for her season ticket, all the required internal pockets, and, best of all, I had a zip all round the outside that when undone practically doubled my capacity.\u00a0<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

So began my life as a beast of burden. I never know what I\u2019ll be taking on board next. I\u2019ve learnt that a trip to the Co-op is bad news. Of course, there\u2019s the regulars, who are so ground down by their enforced proximity within my confines that they\u2019re a bit morose: a purse that\u2019s in and out like a fiddler\u2019s elbow, a hairbrush who goes by the name of Maurice, a phone that she never gets to in time, a bulging pencil case filled with make-up, keys, and a Filofax that weighs a ton and that she barely looks at \u2013 a Filofax, in this day and age! And then there\u2019s the layer of sediment composed of receipts, old tissues, sweet wrappers, tickets, etc.<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve got used to all that; it\u2019s the extra stuff that bothers me: tin,s crumby loaves, yoghurts that threaten my lining. But most of all I fear the books! The worst of them strain my seams, even with the extra space zip fully open. Why has she never developed a taste for a slim novella? I blame the book group. (And she won\u2019t hear of a Kindle \u2013 the Luddite.)<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I do what I can to get my own back, but it\u2019s a bit petty: spitting her purse out every now and then, but she\u2019s noticed every time. I can make her keys or her pen sink right to the bottom within 10 seconds of her putting them in there, so it will take her at least a minute of rummaging to retrieve them.<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Fair dos, she does love me in her own way, and she makes no secret of it. When we are out and about, she has a protective arm around me, and I sit on her knee on the train. Every so often she comes across a fellow big-bag enthusiast who comments approvingly on my discreet capaciousness. That is the cue for a torrent of praise for my colour, my practicality, and \u2013 not least \u2013 my longevity. I gather no bag of hers has ever withstood more than two years of this hard labour, but here I am, coming up for three, with every zip and strap intact.\u00a0<\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I know she\u2019ll grieve the day I cease to be of service, but to be honest, I\u2019m looking forward to retirement. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Apparently I \u2018ticked all the boxes\u2019 . . .<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":5209,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2,67,55],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5197"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=5197"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5197\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5210,"href":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5197\/revisions\/5210"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5209"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=5197"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=5197"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/damesnet.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=5197"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}