You had a funny story about your purse on the blog and I can’t find it.
That’s because it’s archived. After a few years, I archive some posts from Family and Life categories. But since you asked.
So it’s May 2015. We just finished a draft of WHITE HOT and we are exhausted. Braining is too hard, MAGIC SHIFTS comes out in August, followed by SWEEP IN PEACE in October. I am zombified. Much like I am now, but now I seem to have lost ability to sleep. Back then, I was just run down.
May 2015 is also Kid 1’s graduation. I am running around like a chicken with my head cut off. On top of that, we had to go to Romantic Times Convention and I had zero brains left afterward.
It must be said that at that point in my life I didn’t think it was worth to get nice things for myself. It sounds so odd now that I think about it, but I was still in the “I earn $28,000 per year and we have two kids” mode. That’s how much I had earned years ago as a legal assistant. So I would buy cheap clothes, cheap make up, and cheap purses. I would carry the purses until the fake leather peeled off and they started looking too ratty to be presentable in public, then I would reluctantly spend another $30 on that purse’s clone.
My go-to number was something like this from Target.
And my wallet looked something like this.
At some point during this tense period of time, I went outside and for some inexplicable reason decided to leave my wallet on top of our car. I don’t know why I left it on the hood. I don’t normally ever do this, but somehow I abandoned it there and didn’t look for it the entire weekend.
It rained heavily.
On Monday I retrieved my soaked wallet, relieved that my ID and debit cards were all plastic, and tossed it on the stand by the door.
I had also left my purse on the floor, open, because I don’t know why. What I didn’t realize is that super special butthead pictured on the left decided that any piece of fabric on the floor was his. A new rug, a towel, anything that was soft and he liked, he claimed for himself. And just to make sure nobody else could have it, he would mark it.
He liked sitting in my purse and – you guessed it – he peed in it.
At some point I picked up my purse and smelled the urine. Oh boy. So I tell the kids, who are out shopping, to pick up a new purse, any kind of purse. They come back with a small black purse from Forever 21, because that’s where they were shopping.
The next day I have to run a bunch of errands. I am still zombified. I get ready to run out the door, and on a complete autopilot, grab my wallet, stuff it into my old purse, and take off for the driveway.
I run around and finally make it to the bank. I walk in and request to see the banker, because I need to deposit a bunch of checks from contractual and foreign payments totaling about $30,000 and I need to send a wire to my father.
The banker, a nicely put together woman with perfect manicure and a professional attire, invites me to her office. I sit down, hand over the checks, we chat, and she says, “Could I see your ID, please?”
I unzip my purse and a cloud of stale cat urine stench puffs out.
The banker heroically says nothing.
I want to crawl under the table. The sooner I get this done the better.
I reach into my purse and pull out my wallet.
That’s right, my wallet, after getting soaked, has grown mold on it.
Somehow I manage to extract my id. She looks at it, looks at the checks, looks back at me, and says nothing.
I get out of the bank, drive home, get on the computer, and decide to buy the prettiest purse and wallet I can find, because I am traumatized for life. Because this can’t happen again.
I ended up buying an Anuschka purse on Amazon. They are pricey, but they last forever, they are beautiful, and I love them. This is my latest one.
Gordon bought it for me for Christmas. Needless to say, I never leave it on the floor.