On pocketbooks and bags…

Lately, I’m feeling old.  Not exactly old … but … it’s like I’m becoming my mother.  The other day I tried on a pair of shorts, looked in the store’s full-length mirror … and was horrified to see my mother’s legs.  Or at least her chicken-thin thighs.  Now, some of you are wishing you had thin thighs.  I get it!  But, these were my mother’s very thin and unattractive thighs.  And even if they had looked good (which they did not), they were still hers.  It was kind of creepy.

People tell me often, “You look just like your mother!”  Not especially so, except when I make certain faces.  And there’s one glaring look I tend to have when shocked, but not really shocked.  Having never witnessed the look on my own face, I do almost feel her when I make it.

Anyway, about ten minutes after ogling my mother’s thighs, I’m at the register and reach into my purse to pay.  Before I can grab my wallet though, I must remove many (many, many) crumpled tissues, old receipts and yes … a little pink packet of Sweet and Low (I do not use S & L and have no idea why it was there).

My hands flew back and I almost screamed.  It was like reaching into Mom’s purse; though I’m pretty sure the tissue in mine was clean.  You never knew with Mom.

Once while driving with her, I looked down at her pocketbook on the passenger floor of my car.  Ants were crawling out of it.  Immediately pulling over, I grabbed her bag and threw it out the window.  Inside, besides all the ants, was a slightly rotten stalk of celery she’d swiped from the supermarket.

Me – WTF?

Mom (looking not the least bit guilty) – Damn crooks want me to buy a whole package when I only need a little piece to chop into my tuna salad.  Adds a lot of flavor, you know!

So, the other day, standing at the register with a pile of crumpled tissue between us, I asked the clerk if she used Sweet & Low, then gave her one of my mother’s looks.  It felt good!

And I feel much younger (or maybe not) after listening to this … http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HxKeCmTCDV4

Oh yeah…and I forgot to mention how much we both hate the bags under our eyes. Again, bags…hmmm…what’s that all about?


About hereisakiss

Daughter Writer Art's Educator
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9 Responses to On pocketbooks and bags…

  1. deb pettinato says:

    Haha…yes the” pocketbook”. She and celery stalk

  2. dale says:

    My awakening moment that I had turned into my mother was a picture you took of me in my bathing suit at the shoreline down there. I lost my breath! I couldn’t figure out how you took a picture of my mother so long after she passed away!

    Nothing we can do about it kiddo except workout & get toned or some muscles – something they sure didn’t have.

    oh yes… and the many tissues… i relate

    another oh yes.. ask david about mother’s sparkler escapade…you might think that you were lucky to have just ants…


  3. cortezsharkman says:

    Nice to see you’re back!
    I sure get all the mother stuff. I’ve been accused of looking like my mother since I was 30 so have worked hard to combat it for many years. Not that looking like her was all bad, she was beautiful in her youth but mid-age does stuff, you know? I especially FEEL like my mother when I’m around my daughter and sometimes that’s creepy.

  4. Deb says:

    My mother always had the most beautifully groomed hands with long nails topped with nude or frosted polish. For years and years, I bit my nails because at the end of *my* arm was *my mother’s* hand! I stopped biting my nails in my 20’s and my nails have grown out and my hand now looks just like my mom’s, only now when I put I put polish on my nails, it’s bright red!

  5. hereisakiss says:

    For the last several years, I clipped my mom’s nails. She would always sit there quietly and intently as I did so. And always, always she would comment, “My father’s hands. I’m looking at my father’s hands.” I never knew my grandfather, but felt close at those moments.

  6. hereisakiss says:

    And here is a comment from my friend, Patty:

    My 93 year old Aunt Mary just called me about her pocketbook. In a very accusing manner she says, “Did you take my pocketbook home with you?” I say, “No, why would I do that?” She tells me it’s missing.
    After getting back from the podiatrist visit with her this afternoon, (my least favorite doctor appointment I take her to, eeuuwww), I remember taking her appt card out of the pocketbook and putting the pocketbook away in the closet where she keeps it. So I ask, “Did you look in the closet?” Answers, “No why would I look there?” I say, “Because that’s where you keep it.” “Oh, let me go look.”
    She comes back, “You are so right, how did you know it was there?” 0:)
    I clean her pocketbook out about every 3 or 4 weeks when she’s not looking. By then she has accumulated 5 pens, 3 wads of tissue, wrappers from hard candy, 2 more pads ( as in writing pads), any receipts that might be there, maybe some knee hi stockings, 1 or more rain bonnets, and it’s still cluttered!
    When my Mom passed, we found about 8 or 10 pocketbooks in her house. Each one of them had the same thing: tissues, rosary beads, some loose change, and ta da, a plastic fork.We laughed until we cried, picturing her always expecting there might be a nice piece of pie somewhere to try.

    Thanks for jogging all of this, makes me smile.

    Made me smile too…E

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