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?