Bag Lady

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Bag

This is my current bag. In real life it’s just a non-descript brown, but when I was sketching it and applying colors in the computer, I decided to be a little playful and spray on various shades of brown. Now it looks more interesting.

I won’t list the contents of this bag; they’re not very different from what’s usually found in a woman’s bag—odds and ends that get carried along. I have no particular attachment to this bag. I think it lacks character. Sort of a generic leather bag. I’ve had better bags, mind you. I had one that had layers or fringes, in rich chocolate suede. Yummy, that one. It matched a suede jacket that I only wore when I was in the US, since suede is too hot to wear here in the tropics. I have a small, black leather knapsack that looks very smart, and is roomy to boot. That one matched my boots.

When I was single (oh, how long ago!), I toted a bag that bespoke my state of being. A tiny purse with a long strap worn across the body, messenger style. It was just large enough to hold a cell phone, cash, ATM cards, house keys, a pack of Marlboros, and not much else. With that bag strapped to my body I can go bar hopping and go home without fear of leaving essentials behind. Or of taking something home with me.

For a time in my life I used to wear out a brown leather, knapsack style bag that could easily pack in a weekend’s worth of clothes. You know, for going on the lam with a guy. Not too much stuff to take along, just enough to last the good times and not tax each other’s company. A knapsack worth of fun to last until Monday rolls in—then it’s back to an “office bag,” a black corporate-prescribed, no-nonsense (boring) bag that tells you, “Go back to work, play time is over.”

In the closet hanging next to my pre-pregnancy (read: slimmer) clothes is a bright red, Chinese-style, woven fabric bag. An unassuming cousin gave it to me for Christmas, not knowing the power she just parted with. It’s so exotic I get a thrilling buzz every time I look at it. This is not a bag to be toyed with, it means some other business. That’s why it’s going to have to stay in the closet for a while, until I’m ready to unleash it.

Now I carry a bag that’s more of a weapon than a fashion accessory. It’s sturdy, it looks very sane, and it goes with whatever clothes I can manage to fit myself into these days. It’s substantially heavy, with a good heft to it, and a balanced swing. My brown bag sends out a clear message: I’m a busy gal, get outta my way.

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