Getting lost is just another way of saying, “going exploring.” (Justina Chen Headley, North of Beautiful)
I should have said sayonara to this purse weeks ago. Right after I dumped its contents on a blacktop parking lot where there wasn’t enough light to guide an owl. No ring of keys anywhere. Or so it seemed. Then my son lifted the purse to my trunk and the back car lights flashed. The car key had to be inside. Halleluiah. But where?
A hole in the bottom lining had swallowed my keys. The holes multiplied. They had also devoured some coupons, my watch, and the original key ring I swore had been buried somewhere between Pennsylvania and Rhode Island. I wrote about the loss. With certainty. One good possibility had been a sand dune. Vacationland, I apologize for blaming you.
How can an inorganic object develop kleptomania? Especially something I carry everywhere I go. It didn’t learn a thing about honesty from my experience. Like the time I went to the grocery for toothpaste and came home with six bags of everything else, or the time I had to admit the cherry pie was a no-go because I had used baking powder instead of cornstarch in the filling. The boil-over would have made an interesting science experience if it were an easier clean-up.
I have been telling myself, I will cut through the rest of the leather and find enough cash to feed a city parking meter for an hour. Or maybe just a small cup of yogurt.
However, it would probably be best to simply say goodbye now. I have what I need. The purse served me well before its problems started. Wait, I found one more paper clip…
terrypetersen 