The story of a woman and her handbag

Every woman has one, even if she’s not particularly fashionable. It’s so much more than just an accessory or a practical necessity –  your life is in there so there is bound to be an emotional attachment to it.

That emotional attachment not only includes my own handbags (there is never just one), but also those of my mother and grandmother. I can still vividly and fondly recall the handbags they had in my childhood years. My father used to say my grandmother had everything in her handbag except a piano, because they didn’t have one! Most men I suspect are simultaneously intrigued and scared of them, no matter the size – a bottomless abyss that they don’t want to even attempt to enter.

With the right handbag I feel like I can go to war, prepared for a multitude of scenarios. Besides, it becomes a protective shield when uncertainty or nervousness sets in. Clutching a bag on your lap in the gynecologist’s waiting room is strangely comforting.  Without its reassuring weight hanging from my shoulder, I somehow feel naked going to social events (it’s an introvert thing).  But the sparkly and pretty little clutch bag that was bought for a formal occasion just doesn’t provide the same confidence as the reliable everyday favourite -“old faithful”, which I will move from shoulder to shoulder and not get tired of carrying.

Letting go of an old favourite is almost as hard as saying goodbye to a pet. But I do also love the allure of a brand new one in an awesome colour – it sometimes feels like I can hear it calling my name.

But in the end, the perfect handbag is the one you have and trust to hold your secrets every day – a quiet companion with which you share a world of experiences.

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