Pink!
I am not a girly-girl. Not a fru-fru girl at all. My Mom says that I used to be, when I was 5 or 6. Then, suddenly, no more dolls or playing ballerina. About 15 years later, I realized that I was making people uncomfortable with my confused image. Hair school helped me put on a better act.
When I work with tools, the real ME comes out. I lapse into my "gunslinger walk" that my husband has learned to associate with accomplishment and happiness. I like it when my hands get callouses and my little muscles get sore. I should have been a farm girl, or a homesteader on the prairie. I noticed that whenever I am saying, "Wow, that was FUN!!!," is when I come home dirty and injured.
At the salon last week, I noticed a stack of new purses. They were freebies from an expired promotion. I reached out and took a big canvas purse trimmed in pink and crome. It is the absolute in foo-foo-shee-shee fashion. I thought, "I'll bet I can carry some plumbing tools in there! It's just the right size and it'll be funny!"
When I got it home, Jeremy started asking questions, "Is it for your mom? Is it for tools? It's bag for your tools, isn't it? It's just not.. YOU!" I let the curiosity build. There's no way I could have even joked that I bought it. I just told him, "It's my purse. It was a bargain- I got it FREE!" He was so puzzled. He couldn't imagine that I would carry it. It's the epitome of all that I am not. My usual purse, if I carry one at all, is always about the size of a passport wallet. I liked being the center of such consternation, so I decided to keep the tools out of it for a while.
I took it with me on days that I had extra stuff to carry. It feels so weird. I have to work up my courage to touch it. It's so PINK! It seems appropriate to grasp it only with thumb and forefinger, like a dead mouse. Once, while waiting at a restaurant table, I turned my back on it. When I returned and saw it sitting there, I almost moved to a new seat because I thought it was someone else's purse.
It's a really pretty purse,..... I guess.
When I work with tools, the real ME comes out. I lapse into my "gunslinger walk" that my husband has learned to associate with accomplishment and happiness. I like it when my hands get callouses and my little muscles get sore. I should have been a farm girl, or a homesteader on the prairie. I noticed that whenever I am saying, "Wow, that was FUN!!!," is when I come home dirty and injured.
At the salon last week, I noticed a stack of new purses. They were freebies from an expired promotion. I reached out and took a big canvas purse trimmed in pink and crome. It is the absolute in foo-foo-shee-shee fashion. I thought, "I'll bet I can carry some plumbing tools in there! It's just the right size and it'll be funny!"
When I got it home, Jeremy started asking questions, "Is it for your mom? Is it for tools? It's bag for your tools, isn't it? It's just not.. YOU!" I let the curiosity build. There's no way I could have even joked that I bought it. I just told him, "It's my purse. It was a bargain- I got it FREE!" He was so puzzled. He couldn't imagine that I would carry it. It's the epitome of all that I am not. My usual purse, if I carry one at all, is always about the size of a passport wallet. I liked being the center of such consternation, so I decided to keep the tools out of it for a while.
I took it with me on days that I had extra stuff to carry. It feels so weird. I have to work up my courage to touch it. It's so PINK! It seems appropriate to grasp it only with thumb and forefinger, like a dead mouse. Once, while waiting at a restaurant table, I turned my back on it. When I returned and saw it sitting there, I almost moved to a new seat because I thought it was someone else's purse.
It's a really pretty purse,..... I guess.
posted by Anita the Sandy at 8:21 PM
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