(Just a Paragraph: when I’m short of time and/or inspiration, I keep my blog ticking over with ‘just a paragraph; random thoughts, reflections, comments, ideas … little snippets)
My handbag has me cursing every time I leave the house. Where are my car keys? In which pocket/compartment/ cavity are they hiding? Where has my lipstick tucked itself away? Why has my pen disappeared? The handbag in question is a dull aubergine colour; not a colour I would have chosen, but I inherited the handbag, and being thrifty, I kept it. When I was younger (and therefore much richer) I indulged my passion for handbags – I had a handbag for every occasion, and then some. Snakeskin clutch? Check. Slinky black patent leather clutch? Check. Brushed tan suede carry-all? Check. Tapestry bag with gold chain handle? Check. And so on. You name it, I had one. But my handbag collection is now sadly reduced, and I’m using this sober handbag, which has a surprising number of pockets, both internally and externally. It has 8 zippered cavities, plus 4 non-zippered compartments. Can you believe it, in a bag of these modest dimensions? I measured the wretched thing, and can report it’s only 25cm long x 16cm high. Hardly large, you will agree, but it’s like an Accessories Black Hole: items popped into this handbag vanish. I can only conclude it was designed for female magicians. Now you see it, and now you don’t.
P.S.: I should add that I’m still lusting after a genuine ostrich skin handbag, and should I find one on a sale, I will buy it – if you can’t have one last extravagant fling at my age, when can you?