Fiona's Blog: (Reluctant) Ode to My Purse
O Purse,You devilish, leatherish, old thing. What times we’ve had together—on planes and trains and endless college visits, playing hide and seek (you sure do love to hide). You can be so caring, protecting my valuables from those people on the subway who always seem to claim that you were already unzipped, and that’s why their hands are on you—to do me the “service” of zipping you back up, of course.
You’re sturdy, dependable—I don’t know how I’d get on without you (or how half the population does), yet you’re a little like a modern-day corset or hoop skirt. I can’t jump or climb or run as easily with you hanging off my shoulder. If I’m the only girl in a group, you always find a way to make me feel inhibited, whether I have to stuff you between my knees as I pay for a snack or spend hours searching through you for my wallet.
When we go to restaurants, you always have to sit on my lap, and at parties, you’re a nuisance on my shoulder, bugging me constantly as you nudge my hip. Yet I dare not leave you on your own for fear some stranger might steal you away. Occasionally, you and I scout around for dark, secret corners where you might be safely tucked, , but usually you remain my steady, annoying companion.I remember my first purse. So exciting and pink. So anticipated. So disappointing by the third day. So easy to lose. Good thing my allowance was so small.I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, purses of the world, but you’re never quite the right size. Moderation is hard, but I think you all could benefit from it. Unfortunately, the pages of Vogue disagree, as one spring they urge me to buy tiny, and the next to tote a near-suitcase on my arm. Too small, and I’m stuffing my belongings in you, hearing buttons snap and zippers rip as you fail to hold my necessities. On nights like those, I find myself dreading paying for an ice-cream or making a phone call, for fear of struggling with your vicious clasps.Or, you’re huge. So cavernous I begin to feel like I’m holding Hermione’s never-ending, beaded bag. Where the heck is my phone? Suddenly you appear to be a black hole. You’re so heavy, yet a deep inspection reveals I can’t find anything in you. Are you carrying nothing?O, purse, you made me learn responsibility so young. Leaving you on public buses and in cafes. Many was the time you made me wish for the day before you arrived in my life. Sadly, there doesn’t appear to be any going back. At least I see more of your cousin, murse, these days.Sometimes I wonder if I should just resort to cargo pants…but I’m addicted and there’s no breaking free from the strap that shackles me.Fiona Lowenstein is a high school senior, weekly guest blogger and Girls Leadership Institute alumna. Read more of her work here.