Shutterstock photo Copyright DogBoxStudio
I received a police report last year concerning a break and enter in the West Island in which the numerous items stolen from the home included 90 purses.
“90 sacs à main?” I asked the cop. “Pour vrai?”
“Et oui,” he typed back.
I don’t get it.
I have one purse. A friend of mine has – by her estimate – about 40 and she takes great delight in teasing me about my one black purse. The way I see it, I can only use one at a time and I’m not about to transfer everything I own into another simply based on the fact it will better match what I’m wearing, or whatever.
My only criterion for the purse is that it’s large enough to carry all the necessities of life, from a multi-tool to a telephoto lens, from a wallet to a tire pressure gauge.
The purse, typically, lasts about a year before all that weight ends up popping the stitching on the handles and I have to buy a new one. The purse is always black though, on a capricious and wild whim last fall, I bought one that was grey and black.
Glasses, however, is an entirely different story.
When I first realized that I needed reading glasses, I picked up some cheap-os at the Dollar Store because actually going to an optometrist and getting a prescription for proper vision eyewear would leave me unable to embrace the bubble of age-denial that I currently employ.
Because I refuse to wear my glasses on a chain around my neck, I now have ‘cheaters’ lying all over the office, car, and house. And in my purse. The same thing goes for sunglasses.
My husband scrutinized a recent Costco receipt and when he saw the word ‘lunettes’ his voice got a little tight.
“You bought more glasses?”
I was able to talk him down with the assurance that it was swimming goggles I had bought. I can’t help it if they come in packs of three. It’s Costco.
I didn’t realize the whole family had noticed this obsession until my son surprised me one Christmas with five pairs of sunglasses, all carefully picked out from the rotating rack, and paid for with fistfuls of change from his piggy bank.
A good friend of mine recently lost her handmade in Italy, Ray Ban Wayfarers at a bank machine and by the time she realized it and retraced her steps, the pricey eyewear was gone, likely making some dishonest soul who found and kept them very happy. As I proudly pointed out to my husband, if I lose one of my many pairs, I’m only out a buck or so.
The end of the summer season means some great deals can be found and perusing a display this week, I bought two new pairs of sunglasses, both of which are a departure from my usual aviator frames.
My family decided the first pair looked okay with but the second was unanimously declared an absolute no.
“You look like one of those raging feminists on Tumblr,” said my son.
Now, the boys know better than to say anything derogatory about women in my presence but when I had the occasion to google what they were talking about, I have to admit they were right.
So if you’re braver than I and can pull off the look of tortoiseshell horn-rimmed, 1960s inspired, raging Tumblr feminist, then drop me a line.
I’ll fix you up.