Have you ever wondered how many kinds of purses there are? Shoulder purses, crossbody purses, backpack purses, totes…every color, every material you can think of.
But my first purse didn’t come from a store. It came from the kitchen. A brown paper sack.
We were living in Pauls Valley, my mom’s hometown, on Mohawk Drive. That street was full of family and friends, and all the kids ran together like a pack, bouncing from yard to yard. According to my mom, her three-year-old had a lot of business to take care of. She called it Bonny’s Business.
Now “business” meant anything important to a three-year-old. Barbie dolls, extra clothes, a little money, and of course candy. You never knew when you might get hungry on the way to the neighbor’s house, so you had to be prepared.
I’d load up that paper sack and head down the block, proud as could be, carrying all my important things. The only problem was…that sack had a hole in it. So everywhere I went, I left a trail of my Business behind me. Mom could usually just follow the path of scattered treasures to find me.
One day our neighbor, Boots, decided it was time I upgraded to a “real” purse. She climbed up into her attic and came down with the biggest purse she owned. I thought it was the finest thing I’d ever seen. Naturally, I filled it right up with even more Business.
What I remember most about that purse wasn’t how it looked, though. It was the smell. That strong, old-lady cologne that hit you square in the face every time you opened it. That lining held onto that scent like it was part of the fabric itself.
Some things haven’t changed much. I still refuse to spend more than fifteen dollars on a purse, and I take a little pride in finding a good bargain. But I do have one non-negotiable. It has to have pockets. Without pockets, all my Business disappears into a black hole.
To this day, if you call my phone, there’s about a 99 percent chance you’ll get my voicemail. It’ll probably tell you to hang on while I try to find my phone. Then I’ll give up and ask you to leave a message because, sure enough, it’s buried somewhere at the bottom of my purse.
Over the years, the Business I carry has changed. It’s gone from Barbie dolls to bills I wish someone else would find and pay. But the habit hasn’t changed. When I find a purse that works, I carry it until it’s worn out. I don’t like switching them around. The bigger the purse, the more Business I manage to pack into it.
There’s always a snack in there. And somewhere, usually, a quarter. We don’t have pay phones anymore, but that was something my dad always made sure I had before I left the house.
Because in the end, it never really mattered what the outside looked like.
It was always about the Business on the inside.
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