I’m not a glamorous person. I wish I were, and I’ve tried. I have had my share of sequined outfits and high heels. I even own a pair of Barbie pink high heels which I occasionally wear. But I always feel fraudulent, like a kid dressed up in her mother’s shoes and pearls. For one thing, I’m only five feet tall. My notion of glamor and that height don’t mix. I don’t think Audrey Hepburn was very tall, either. She would be my idea of a glamorous woman (dates me, doesn’t it?). She was probably also a multiple handbag woman. In the movies she had a different bag for every outfit she wore and I’m guessing she also did in real life. Actually, she wouldn’t have called it a ‘bag’ at all, but a ‘purse.’ I only have one handbag at a time, a large one that I beat to death. Then I replace it. The one I carry now is a leather backpack style. I call it my purse, but my daughter (a multiple purse woman) says nonetheless it’s a backpack. She says this with a disparaging sneer, too. I can’t really blame her. I know women who are very anxious about their purses being stolen in restaurants or theaters. They are vigilant and hyper aware of the whereabouts of their purses. Not me. I figure if anyone wants my wadded up old Kleenex, expired coupons and gritty Chapstick, they must be desperate enough that I would welcome them to it. My daughter should have a touch more regard, though. The contents of my handbags have gotten my kids out of many fixes in their young lives. I always had Bandaids, breath mints, hair ties, and a jack knife for cutting straws, fruit or string, among other things. I’ve been told that you can date a woman by how many life support systems she carries in her handbag. In which case, I’m well into my nineties. Honestly, I think some of those missing children on milk cartons are in my handbag. I’m sure I hear them occasionally crying in there, “It’s dark in here,” “I have to pee,” “When are we going home, etc.” I’m also reasonably sure that Audrey Hepburn didn’t carry enough gardening tools in her car to rival Home Depot, either. This time of year, I do. Like my handbag, this has often served me well in emergencies.
Today, I found a wild turkey on the side of the road that appeared to have been hit by a car. Fortunately, I was prepared; I had gloves, a tarp and pruning implements with me. Of course I did! Sadly, the bird was dead, very dead, but that didn’t stop me from taking its wings. It was like de-boning a colossal chicken. The wings are enormous and very beautiful. So, I couldn’t leave them there in the ditch to be shredded by a coyote or something. Could I? For the time being, I’ve nailed them on the side of my house high enough so the raccoons can’t get to them. I’ll have to figure out how to tan them and then what to do. Maybe the solution is in my handbag.
