In this season: Hospital Gowns for Everyone!

Dear Reader, in the eight months I've been acquainted with the Lady and her S.O., I've known them to spend more time in hospitals than the average couple. Between clumsiness and illness, these two have shared more than a resounding 72 hours together in hospital emergency rooms and lounging on beds, waiting to be seen by doctors.

Most recently, the S.O. found himself in the hospital for a three-day stint, during which time the Lady filled me up with goodies -including a very olfactorily offensive pair of man sneakers- to lift his spirits. I was happy to visit the S.O., as his mere presence makes the Lady content, but what I love more than the happiness of those around me is being complimented. The Lady was getting ready to leave at the end of visiting hours when another patient tapped her on the shoulder and said, "I love your purse!" to which the Lady replied, "Well, thank you! I love her, too." But then the patient went on to say how beautiful I am and wanted to know from where the Lady acquired such a marvelous accessory. The S.O. was happy to weigh in on how I came to be in the Lady's possession and more niceties ensued. I must say, I left the hospital feeling fabulous!

Bloody Bus

In an unexpected turn of events, the Lady actually had a good day riding the bus. No wafts of gasoline and bologna or human excrement. No parents feeding their toddler sugary colas and salt and vinegar chips. No passengers yelling at other riders. Phew. In fact, she was able to lend a helping hand to a young man, in no small part thanks to yours truly. Halfway through the ride downtown, the bus stopped and picked up several passengers, including a young man with a discreet, yet potential messy trail of blood from his nose. Another rider alerted him to the situation and alarmed, he began to use his toque to clean up his face. The Lady thought this silly, as the weather has been very chilly of late and a bloody toque would be no good to the young man. Thankfully, I have a store of tissue in my inner pocket, which the Lady promptly pulled out and offered to another passenger to pass to our bloody friend. A return of thanks was passed our way and soon enough the nosebleed cleared up. This purse feels like a regular -but oh so stylish- Florence Nightingale!

Movember Madness

Dear Reader, women of this nation have the opportunity to acknowledge, raise awareness of and generate funds for Breast Cancer each and every October through the sale of all things pink - which is, incidentally, the Lady's favourite colour. Store after store of pink frying pans, spatulas, staplers, pens and hats make us remember those who have survived and those who have succumbed to this terrible disease.

As of late, the following month has been dedicated to raising awareness of Prostate Cancer, affecting the lives of many Canadian men. Instead of selling colourful housewares and sporting ribbons, participants in this awareness campaign grow moustaches and refer to November as Movember. Interesting fact, en francais, les hommes are celebrating movembre.

This purse is used to moustaches, as the Lady's dad has a long, walrus-esque moustache that is famous for its robustness amongst all those who know him. Anytime we run into an old friend or acquaintance, the most commonly asked question is "Does your dad still have that awesome moustache?" However, I am shocked at the number of men who begin to look like criminals of the petty variety upon growing a wispy soup strainer. I pray the Lady will clutch me tighter when we pass sketchy looking fellows with fresh Movember 'staches. I support the cause, but according to many of the ladies in my life, December can't come soon enough.

Nice to Meat You

After twelve years of vegetarianism, well, pescatarianism, the Lady has returned to the meat-eating ways of her youth. The decision, I'm told, is prompted largely by her sensitivity to soy and soy-related ingredients in loads of vegetarian protein options. The results of her consumption of her soy are akin to, and I quote, "having a knitting needle stabbed into my abdomen". Should she win an award for overdramatization? Perhaps. However, having witnessed a reaction or two since we've met, I understand her aversion. That said, for the past few months, she has reintroduced meat into her diet and things appear to be going smoothly.

She has reminisced about past meat-eating experiences, especially a few nibbles she snuck in during her decade of meat-celibacy, namely:

5. A bite of steak while on holiday in Victoria five years ago. The cheese plate that followed was better, though!

4. Chicken livers at Ichiban with her favourite New Yorkers, Hallie and Krista. The creamy texture of the livers exceeded her expectation.

3. A hotdog whilst on a date with the S.O. Specifically, she says, because the first bite with its yielding snap of the casing and the steamy centre is something she dreamt about for years.

2. Moose, Filipino-barbecue style at her friend's baby shower. Hunted by her friend, the Archaeologist, and cooked up by his now-wife, this meat was savoury and addictive.

1. A piece of Filet Mignon shared at a chain steakhouse over a year ago.

Those who have known the Lady for many years -and obsessed over or ridiculed her vegetarianism- have pondered why she returned to consuming meat. Was it outside influence or pressure? Weakness for the meat as it called to her tastily from the plate? Only she'll ever know, I suppose. What do I care? I'm a purse!

Harry Potter and the Purple Purse

The Lady took me on a date tonight...with her sister and the soon-to-be brother-in-law -hereafter known as the STBBIL, which is fitting, given his penchant for sporting beards or beard-like facial hair.

The four of us went to see the latest installment of Harry Potter at the cinema. This date has been postponed due to various circumstances out of the control of several party members, which dwindled after the Lady's friend, Halfie, had an urgent matter to attend to and declined his invitation. However, our little group pressed on. STBBIL and the Lady left early for the theatre to ensure the procurement of tickets, while Stinky tutored a thirteen year old (OMG, like, Harry Potter is awesome. LOL. Ugh, give this purse a break!). On their way, they opted to stop for candy and some, ahem, personal items that may explain why the Lady cried four times during the film. For the first time in her twenty eight years, the Lady shopped at Giant Tiger -or Tay-ger, as some mothers are apt to say. She wanted desperately to stop and look at the Aqua Globes and peruse the housewares, yet the call of Ron Weasley pulled her forward.

Thankfully, the theatre wasn't too packed with dorky muggles and aspiring wizards. Except for the dorky muggle on whose shoulder I was perched. The Lady grabbed a straw from the concession stand and when her sister walked into the building, the Lady pointed it at her and yelled out a spell from the books. I almost died of embarrassment. I can't take her anywhere, Dear Reader.

The film itself was well done. It was moving, had all the touches necessary to capture the essence of the book and left me wanting more...countdown to the release of Part Two has begun! Oh dear...I seem to have caught dorkiness. I must get out more.

Adventures on the Bus

The Lady has moved too far away to walk home from work these days, so on a typical day, she takes the bus to and from work. Even if the Lady had a wonderful day at work with rewarding moments throughout her interactions, the bus can turn her into a black cloud of frustration and anger. Unfortunately, I often accompany her on these adventures and have seen some sights and smelled some smells I would trade for a stab with a knitting needle anyday.

Last Friday afternoon, the Lady and I waited in the now-freezing temperatures at the bus stop for any bus to take us to our transfer destination. Time passed; it got colder and colder and the sky darkened -not to be dramatic, the Earth continues its rotation regardless of circumstances here on the surface!- and finally a bus heading in the direction we needed to travel pulled up. It was packed, but neither of us paid any mind, as it meant we were on our way home. As the Lady paid her fare -Purses ride for free- she noticed a particular odour hanging in the air...permanent marker? she thought. Or gasoline. Likely the latter, as she quickly spotted three individuals seated towards the front of the bus with rags tucked into their sleeves, a sure sign that they were sniffers. As the ride continued, the fumes permeated every square inch of the bus, giving the Lady overwhelming nausea. This was only compounded by the trios impromptu picnic of bologna sandwiches -which the woman in the group said "comes from horses".

The Lady was conflicted. She felt bad for the poor state of the sniffers...what kind of life is that? However, she also noted the mother with children sitting across the way and wondered how she would explain that to her kids when they got home. Once she got to her transfer stop, the Lady breathed the "fresh" air of downtown at rush hour, still gagging from the atmosphere on the bus. She thought the time she swore someone defecated themselves on the bus last winter was her worst ride, odourwise, but much to both of our chagrins, this one takes the cake. I'm so glad Purses lack an olfactory system.

Going Cocoknits

This Purse has been a very bad blogger indeed! The last few months have been a true whirlwind of upheaval and uncertainty, so blogging has been very much put on the back burner. Why the upheaval and uncertainty, you ask? Between the Lady's move, her constant job search and her resulting feeling of not fitting in anywhere, I have been dragged around town and stuffed with new and exciting things on a daily basis.

To conquer the doldrums, the Lady has resumed knitting with a fervor typically reserved for those in times of panic and disaster. In one evening, I witnessed her finish a very large toque for her Dad's very large head and then stitch herself halfway through another hat for her soon-to-be brother-in-law.

Her penchant for all things knit means that I'm routinely filled with balls of yarn, half-completed projects and more needles than I can shake a...needle at. One would think a woman as clever as the Lady would understand the negative effects of loose, sharp needles on a particularly pretty Purse as myself, but apparently not. Get your head out of the clouds, woman! One needle made it way through my lining, perfectly positioned itself to escape a hole in my leather exterior and stabbed the Lady in the arm. She jumped, realized what happened, removed the needles and found a more suitable way to store her knitting supplies in her beloved purse. Knit too bad for a university graduate!

Banana vs. Gorilla

Dear Reader, this purse suffered a humiliation unlike anything she's ever experienced -including being prodded on the bus or stuffed with smelly sneakers. The Lady, Stinky and their Mom took a day trip to the U.S. to shop for a dress and tortilla shells, of all the things. The fact that Stinky purchased upwards of 1,000 soft tortilla shells for her upcoming social was not what embarassed me. It was the antics the Sisters pulled off in Target's Hallowe'en section.

After oooing and awwing over the charming pet costumes, the Sisters wandered into the adult costume section where the Lady noticed a full-size banana costume, removed from its package. She decided to try it on, 'just for fun'. She implored Stinky to try on a costume too. Stinky chose a gorilla. After the Sisters were fully dressed, they pushed their carts around until they found Mom. She took one look at her grown-up daughters and muttered "Idiots". The Lady -er, Banana- began running up and down the aisles, narrowly missing customers and employees, while Stinky the Gorilla chased her gleefully until they reached the costume aisle once again. Removing the costumes, the Sisters fled the scene, leaving the residents of Grand Forks in a state of...well, North Dakota.

The Big Good-bye

The S.O. got a great job in his field in a city a few hours away. That means, of course, that the Lady misses him terribly and realizes what an important role he plays in her life. She just isn't herself lately, which saddens her favourite accessory.

To send off the S.O. properly, a group of family and friends gathered at Ichiban, a Japanese steakhouse, to eat, drink and strive to be the loudest table in the restaurant. Our server, Domingo, sauteed, chopped and kept the sake flowing all night. The Lady ordered a meal called "The Empress", which consisted of every sea creature this purse has ever heard of...lobster, scallops, shrimp. She ate it all, so I assume it was delicious. My favourite part of the evening was the panda shaped glass served to the mom of my Cheetah-print Friend. It was adorable!

Happy Anniversary

Dear Reader, the Lady and the S.O. celebrated their one-year anniversary this past Tuesday. I'm told they met at the party of a mutual friend last summer and went to the zoo on their very first date. The Lady wore a purple shirt with eyelet detail on the bust and sleeve, thereafter referred to as the "First Date Shirt" and the S.O. wore a shirt that read "My Drinking Team Has a Hockey Problem". Although he acts embarrassed now whenever the Lady teases him about it, he did make a memorable impression and showed his sense of humour -especially since he doesn't play hockey! For the anniversary dinner, the S.O. wore the shirt he was sporting when they first met; the nostalgia garnered him a kiss from the Lady, but this purse assures you that if she had eyes, they'd be rolling.

After a lovely dinner at their favourite sushi restaurant, the pair wandered into the candy store to buy jellybeans and sour cream soda and cola bottles. Then they headed home to eat the jellybeans, although if I'm honest, I was left in the kitchen, so whether they got eaten has yet to be confirmed. Ah, love.

Desert...I thought you said Dessert!

Last weekend, the Lady, the S.O. and some friends took a trek two hours west of the City for a camping adventure. A purse such as myself leans more towards urban fun, but where the Lady goes, I follow. And that's how I wound up squished in the backseat of the car, next to the sleeping bag, a tent and bags of Old Dutch ketchup chips.

While the Lady left me behind on the first hike she and the S.O. took, much to my dismay I was dragged along on a wagon ride through the desert in the hot, stickiness of Saturday afternoon. The wagon creaked and whined under the weight of the passengers and the S.O. marveled at the strength of the horses who pulled us along. The wagon stopped so we could take a short walk through the sand dunes. The S.O. ran ahead, while the Lady trudged up the first dune, whining the entire way. Eventually, as her feet adjusted to the scorching sand, she lightened up and snapped a few photos. Imagine my surprise when I was placed on a dune for a photo opportunity! Hopefully this marks the end of my camping experiences for the near future...perhaps a nice cruise or a resort would better suit my tastes.

Pool Like That

This summer has been full of firsts for this Purple Purse! The S.O. planned a date night for the Lady –that’s certainly not a first, although one activity was new to us both. The S.O. borrowed his dad’s convertible to take us for a lovely drive through the city. We were the highlight of the road! Other drivers honked at us regularly and one gentleman in an SUV even asked the Lady if it was a nice ride. She giggled uncontrollably and then prompted the S.O. to answer the question before he sped away with the change of the light.

After the wind had sufficiently blown the Lady’s hair out of control, we made our way to a pool hall for a game of billiards and some pizza. The Lady won –by default when the S.O. sent the white ball flying into the corner pocket or prematurely sank the eight ball. No matter; who keeps score anyway? Even I got in on the action, although I regret to inform you, Dear Reader, while I look best in solids, I only managed to sink a stripe.

Fringe Benefits

The Lady, the S.O. and I took in some local and independent theatre this summer at the Fringe Festival. The Lady is a seasoned Fringer, even having produced, wrote, directed and acted in a few shows during her youth. Throughout the course of our Fringe adventures, the Lady filled me with snacks, water bottles and the program they so often checked and rechecked for showtimes and venue locations. Despite the rain and challenges finding decent parking, we stood in line for Festival favourites Die Roten Punkte and Monster Theatre.

In one such line, the Lady spotted some intricate graffiti she wanted to photograph for her ever-growing collection. The S.O. offered to carry me while the Lady ran off to snap a photo. He looked rather strapping with me slung over his shoulder, if I do say so myself! The Lady, however, did not look quite so lovely when she returned to us in a panic. Apparently after she took the first photo, she looked around to see if there was any other graffiti in the vicinity worthy of collecting. Instead of graffiti, she found a fellow sleeping on the ground, tucked into the corner. Startled by this sight and stifling a scream, she ran back to the S.O. for a comforting hug. Poor dear!

Iron Maiden

On Wednesday, the Lady and I did the unthinkable...we attended an Iron Maiden concert. Typically, the Lady enjoys lighter music of the jazz or folk variety, so a heavy metal performance was a far cry from the stylings of Diana Krall and Feist she normally favours. However, her love for the Significant Other overrides her musical taste and since she gave him the tickets as a birthday gift, she wanted to watch him enjoy his gift.

The tickets were purchased at the very last minute, so the seats were very high up, giving the Lady a bout of anxiety as they climbed the stairs. She was worried about falling and about dropping me into the abyss of Iron Maiden fans on the lower levels of the arena. They would eat a beautiful purse like me alive! As soon as the seats were taken, I was shoved under the Lady's seat, next to the S.O.'s beer, for safekeeping. The arena pulsed with operatic singing, raging guitars, flashing lights and the smell of a thousand Iron Maiden fans. The experience was unlike anything I have ever witnessed in my short life and at times, I wanted to sneak away to the safety of an intimate restaurant or a quiet restroom. However, the S.O. rocking out to the few songs he truly loved was a sight to melt even the most Iron of hearts.

Cat in the...Purse?

Doctor Seuss would be proud. On Sunday morning, as the Lady and the Significant Other prepared to head out for Father's Day visits, I found myself in the most precarious position. Normally when visiting the S.O.'s abode, I am treated with the utmost respect and am left to my own devices, perched atop the freezer at the back door. This day, however, after a late night, I wasn't as perky as I normally am. As I sat waiting for the Lady to pick me up on her way out the door, the S.O.'s fluffy, black and white cat jumped up and -oh! it pains me to relive this- sat right down on top of me. As I struggled to free myself, the Lady and the S.O. laughed hysterically and snapped an incriminating photo. I ask you, Reader, do I look like a pillow?

Rootbeer Float

The Lady has spent a considerable amount of time prepping for a birthday celebration in honour of her 28th and the Significant Other's 33rd birthdays. Making salsa, guacamole and the various layers of the layered dip, which by my estimation has approximately three components and is a little boastful to be referring to itself as "layered", but I digress. On Thursday, the party shopping included the purchase of a two litre bottle of rootbeer for the personal consumption of the birthday couple, likely while watching True Blood in their pyjamas.

The Lady packed all the drinks and chips into the back of her car -the quirky Matrix aptly named Zippy- to bring to her parents where the party is taking place. She was concerned about everything shaking around in the hatch, but put it to the back of her mind. She parked in the driveway and without a second thought, opened the hatch. The bottle of rootbeer rolled out of the back, bounced off the pavement, was punctured by a rock and came to rest in a puddle where it proceeded to spray a mist of rootbeer across the driveway. The Lady stood in the driveway, staring at the bottle until her sister, Stinky, came outside and told her not to stand in the spray for fear she might get sticky.

Now all that remains is how the Lady will tell the S.O. about the untimely demise of the rootbeer, for which he only paid one dollar.

Food Fight

Dear Reader, this may be news to you, but The Lady is getting old. Not too terribly old, yet today she is one year older than the day before. To celebrate her birthday, the Significant Other took her to a restaurant neither one had tried before -The Lady was secretly impressed that her fella had picked a place she had wanted to try but hadn't had the wherewithal to visit. The food was South American in scope and The Lady decided to have a spaghetti -her favourite birthday food- with shrimp and crab smothered in some sort of chevre sauce. Potential for mess, she thought, but it looked too good to pass up. The S.O. picked a slab of meat -Purses such as myself aren't familiar with cuts of beef, although this one appeared to be of an Argentinian variety. Because it liked soccer? No, I kid. The meals arrived with the meat presented in a most unusual fashion, on a skillet on a big cutting board. Potatoes and vegetables rounded out the dish with a small container of a chunky tomato salsa to top the meat. As the S.O. repositioned his massive wooden board, the container of salsa slipped off the plate, did a double flip -from where I was sitting- splattering his crisp blue shirt and landing on the floor in a massive mess. The Lady looked at him. The S.O. looked at her. She paused and then said "We'll laugh about this later." A glass of soda and a soiled serviette later, the shirt was presentable, the meat was consumed and The Lady was pleased at how calm and collected the S.O. was after his salsa bath.

It's just a little crush...

As our holiday was winding down, I realized how much time I had spent with the Significant Other’s beloved backpack. All the evenings in the hotel room, on the drive down, the day the Lady and the S.O. visited the Zoo with her MEC backpack in tow, leaving us alone to get acquainted. Now, I know what you’re thinking, dear Reader. Why would a Pretty Purple Purse like me pay attention to a rugged, scrappy backpack like him? It’s what romantic comedies are made of. We’re opposites, but this purse can’t help but appreciate his masculinity, his clean lines and the sense that he’s experienced many things the world has to offer. The drive back to Winnipeg was bliss, cuddled on the backseat with my handsome bag. Could this be the beginning of a beautiful friendship?

Down to a Science

On Monday, the Lady, the S.O. and I graced the Science Museum of Minnesota. At first, the copious amounts of schoolchildren running to and fro on a year-end field trip high made me nervous. Riding the exhibits like tiny bull riders at a rodeo, the Lady was equally weary of the youngsters, although her concerns revolved chiefly around the safety of the children and the preservation of the exhibits, instead of any potential damage incurred by her precious purse.

After some persuading, I decided to try out a few exhibits and learn a bit about science. First, the Lady brought me to a display about all the disgusting ‘tissue issues’ people suffer with, including warts and scabs. Really? I agreed to pose for a photograph, keeping my straps as far as possible from the festering wounds and splinters. Finely, before we left for the cheap date night, I decided to find out how many litres of blood course through my veins, so to speak. Not many, apparently!

Minnesoexcited!

The Lady and the Significant Other recently took a road trip to the booming metropolis of Minneapolis, Minnesota, dontcha know? All the bags were packed, snacks were assembled and paper organized for a six-day-five-night, much deserved holiday. Admittedly, I slept almost the entire drive down, except for the occasional time I was pillaged for a wallet or the passports or a lip gloss. The Lady entertained the S.O. with endless games of Trivial Pursuit on her iPod and the S.O. stopped to, ahem, use the facilities at every opportunity. This meant, naturally, that I saw the inside of many powder rooms across North Dakota and Minnesota, including one that reminded the Lady so vividly of a scene from the cinematic masterpiece Zombieland that she did her business in record time for fear an unmentionable would grab her ankles under the stall door. Speaking of Zombies, the highlight of my Saturday was enjoying a drink or two at Donny Dirk’s Zombie Den in Northeast Minneapolis with the Lady and the S.O. In fact, hankering for a gin, the bartender created the Lady a special, one-of-a-kind cocktail. The S.O. called the sweet concoction “Zombie’s Kiss”, while the Lady dubbed it “Gin of the Dead”. No consensus was reached, although I lean toward the romanticism of kiss.

Fashion Emergency

The Lady, suffering from a yet to be determined ailment, went to the emergency room twice last week. Spending the better part of a 30 hour period in waiting rooms and hospital beds is no way to pass the time. However, the Lady is nothing if not prepared and she stuffed me to the brim on the second visit, with a little help from her Knight in Shining Armour -until now known to you as the Significant Other. Water bottles, oranges, tissues, McDonald's, a book and the trusty iPod packed my insides. The Knight commented on my weight after he offered to carry me for the Lady when she was in pain. Me, heavy? How dare he?! Either way, seeing the Lady in an unflattering hospital gown twice in one week was almost too much to bear.

While the second visit was far more productive, it was the first visit that was more entertaining for yours truly. See, as the Lady sat on the exam table answering question after question from the nurse, she needed to refer to her day planner, neatly stored in my inner pocket. As the nurse was passing me to the Lady, she paused to admire my beauty and voice her approval. Despite her exhaustion, her frustration and discomfort, the Lady couldn't help but be amused. What can I say? I'm always the centre of attention.

Ms. Lonely

Today, in a move most unprecedented, the Lady left me at home when she went to work. At first I was insulted, as she began to remove critical contents from my insides, but once I realized she was putting smelly, dirty sneakers and garlic-infused foodstuffs into her backpack, I breathed a sigh of relief. Scarcely since our first encounter, have the Lady and I been separated by more than a couple of rooms. Now I have an entire day to do what I please, put my straps up and forget about the woes of carting around wallets and lip gloss and tissue. But, dear Reader, what is it that pleases me? Watching TV? Reading? Knitting? No. My purpose in life is to look pristine and pretty, perched on the shoulder of a wonderful woman. And here I sit, alone in the flat, staring at the dining table, waiting for her to come home.

Fun in the Car

On Sunday, the Lady did two things she hadn’t tried in a long time. Firstly, the Significant Other let her practice driving standard on his lovely new car –the indelible Jeannie. See Dear Reader, the four of us –the Lady, the S.O., Jeannie and I– are taking a trip to Minneapolis next week. And although the fellow is an accomplished driver, it’s not feasible for him to drive the entire trip, which is why the Lady practiced. Clutch, gas, clutch, shift. First, fourth, third. Oh dear! It was a lesson in patience, to be sure. The S.O. watching as his baby was being tortured at the hands of this monster! No, no, he was a gentle teacher and I was pleased from my perch on the backseat to hear him praise the Lady’s effort. She was thrilled.

After all the practicing, they were hungry and so the S.O. suggested taking a drive out to Lockport for dinner. On the way the Lady decided that she would eat a hotdog. For most people, this might be a mundane act, a regular occurrence, but my Lady is not a meat eater and a wiener has not passed her lips since the nineties. But there I sat, dangerously close to a pile of goose poo, watching as the Lady devoured an entire hotdog with the works. It was a day of firsts for this Pretty Purple Purse.

Don't Rain on My Prada

To walk or not to walk, that is the question. If you’re the Lady, the answer is to walk. In the rain. And the wind. We weren’t entirely victim to the elements, for the Lady had an umbrella. While math is not my strong suit, I do know that Umbrella + Wind(Rain) = Awkwardness. This equation made the walk home challenging for the Lady. Doing her best to protect me from the rain, she had to use both hands to clutch the umbrella and control it like a wild steed. At some point in her varied past, I think the Lady must have been a nanny, because at more than one point during our trek she almost flew away like Mary Poppins. Now, Ms. Poppins was a lovely woman with the sassy sweetness of Betty White and resourcefulness of Martha Stewart, but her taste was questionable…I mean that carpet bag? Vraiment?

Dying Hard

The Lady and the S.O. recently attended a marathon. Now, let me clarify one thing...the Lady does not run. This particular marathon involved a series of films called "Die Hard" and a group of adults in Snuggies cuddling on a couch, eyes glued to the television. A purse such as myself goes in for more...cultured fare with foreign films topping the list. The adults seemed to enjoy themselves, though. And apparently Bruce Willis still has it, whatever it is. Now, that being said, all the snacking and gorging on pizza and whatnot created a maelstrom of noxious gases which enveloped the room and all those in it. Not to say the Lady (or the S.O. for that matter) has never expelled a foul odour since our acquaintance, but this, dear Reader, was atrocious. It nearly dissolved the stitching on my seams! The best part of the day was finally having the opportunity to socialize with my lovely friend...the Cheetah Print Purse. A friendship made in fashion heaven?

What Happens on the Bus, Stays on the Bus...

The Lady and I took the bus to work this morning when something most disturbing happened. It was crowded and we stood for the entire ride. Normally this wouldn't pose a problem, what with the ride being short and The Lady being more than able to stand. However, Dear Reader, today the particular bus we hopped was short and other riders kept bumping up against yours truly.

The Lady turned around, for fear she had smacked another rider in the face, and apologized to a woman seated behind her. Another jostle caused The Lady to turn around once more, this time she said nothing. A final, firm tug on my tender side perplexed The Lady as she had been increasingly careful with my whereabouts. Turning around, The Lady pulled out her iPod earbuds and fixed her gaze on the woman. She feared she was in for a verbal smackdown, but instead the woman declared in a cheerful voice, "I love your bag!" The Lady smiled and said thanks and reciprocated her love for me. The woman asked The Lady where she got such a beautiful purse. The Lady explained how we were united by the Significant Other's Mother and that the Mother has fantastic taste. The woman prodded further, asking more details The Lady was able to answer with a friendly laugh and a nod of the head.

Then something that sent chills down my seams happened. The woman said that if The Lady didn't want me she would be happy to take me off her hands. I froze. Oh no! The Lady tightened her grip on my straps and laughed nervously. "No, I'm very happy with her. I love her. Thanks, though." I was nervous when the woman got off at our stop, but thankfully she crossed one way and we the other, putting a safe distance between me and the pursesnatcher. We saw the woman in the afternoon waiting for the bus home, but The Lady decided to wait for another bus just to be safe. Phew.

The Purple Purse Goes Shopping

For the first time in my short life, my dears, I went grocery shopping. The Significant Other picked up The Lady and I last night to visit a mecca of food, cleaning products and other accoutrements a purse like myself can only dream of. Although The Lady held me in her lap on the ride to the store, once we arrived, she promptly placed me in the cart, not unlike a small child, confined to the metal cage like an animal. No, really, it wasn't that bad! Eventually, it got very crowded, what with the produce and toothpaste and toothbrushes and cheese and eggs and orange juice piled beside me, however, I managed to escape unscathed. Except for, as the Significant Other says, the "snot rag" The Lady shoved inside me in the frozen seafood section. To be honest, I'm not sure what I thought grocery shopping would entail, but it did give me some precious alone time with The Significant Other while The Lady ran ahead to ogle the organic offerings. He didn't filled me with tissues. And he kept my contents secure, even without The Lady asking. Perhaps carrying his water bottle and keys won't be so bad after all!

Zombie Plague

I'm sure by now you're aware that I'm a Prada. I don't like to brag, making other purses feel less than...but it is a vital part of this story, Reader. The Lady has been battling with a plague that has left her with the lustre of a Zombie. Many nights from my perch on the green vinyl kitchen chair, I heard her toss and turn and cough and blow her nose over and over. Poor dear. Now, I sympathize. No one likes to see their loved one suffer. However, something most appalling has arisen from this plague. Something almost unforgivable. Perhaps the illness had impaired her judgement. Perhaps the fatigue had left her unable to gauge the consequences of her actions. The Lady, blowing her nose in public venues around the city, would...oh, it embarrasses me to divulge this to you...put her phlegm-filled tissues in me until she could find a trash bin. Quel horreur! I'm a Prada. A pretty, purple Prada purse. And in her crusty-nosed-tossing-and-turning-Zombified-state of mind, she thought it appropriate to fill me with moist, sticky, lotion-laden Puffs. Can we bounce back from this? Only time will tell...

Purple Purse vs. The Wind

Dear Reader, something nearly catastrophic happened on Thursday. The Lady and I were walking home from work, as we tend to do most days. However, the wind on this particular afternoon was fierce. And not in an avant garde way. As we were waiting to cross Broadway, le vent began to lift me -LIFT ME- off The Lady's shoulder. Not wanting to be bested by the wind, she tugged me back down and tightened her grip. Cars continued to pass, the light unchanging. Another gust blew down the tunnel that had become Garry, once again lifting me away from the safe curve at The Lady's waist. I feared for my life. What would the wind do with me? It has no shoulder from which to proudly display me. Would I find myself drowning in the Assiniboine? Run over by a hillbilly in a Cavalier or a Dodge Ram? The Lady, bless her, held her own against Mother Nature and protected me from a most unsavoury pursenapping. Sigh.

The Lady

It goes without saying that behind every pretty purse is a lovely lady. My Lady is far from perfect, but she loves me unconditionally and truly, what more can a purse ask for? The Lady works downtown and while I don't pretend to understand what she does, it's clear her daily routine involves a computer and talking on the phone. About museums. Huh.

When we're not at work, we live in the French Quarter in a third story flat. The Lady has been sick with an awful cold this week, so living conditions are...less than ideal. Especially for a pretty purse like me. However, her taste is feminine and cute, to say the least. I mean, really, who has a pink polka-dotted ottoman?

The Lady and I met not too long ago at a social event. We were introduced by her significant other's mother. The Mother knew that I was the purse for her son's ladyfriend, so here we are. Don't you wish you and your purse were so perfectly paired?

Hello, World!

I'm a pretty, purple purse. I can't help it, so don't be jealous. Once in a while, a purse as perfectly crafted as this is brought into the world. No one knows how or why. It is what it is. That said, life has been peculiar since joining the ranks. My days consist mainly of coming and going, this and that. You know how it goes. Or do you?