The Story of My Bag

I have this bag. It's black imitated leather, big and slouchy.  We will call this bag Barbara.

  

I bought Barbara sometime during my sophomore year in college.  She was calling my name from the shelves of Urban Outfitters, too pretty to pass up.

Barbara was so dependable, always holding what I needed, or might need, or decided what I needed.  She was a loyal shoulder-clinger, carrying books upon books, mints and sweaty clothes.

One day (sometime in 2007), Barbara broke.  The weight of English Literature bibles, Harry Potter, and plaid sweats was just too much.  She snapped on her right side, damaging her long, cord-like arms.  It was a sad day for the two of us, and I wasn't ready to let Barbara go.  I decided she needed more time on this earth, so I tucked her in a corner spot in my room (Junior year of college), and waited for the perfect seamstress to mend her wounds.  

Her recovery was long and painful, but Barbara finally came back to life this past summer/fall, 2008!  It was a glorious day, and I celebrated by filling her space with lots of irrelevant papers and nick-knacks.  I couldn't have been more happy to have my generic big black purse at my side once again.  I took Barabara everywhere, as if she had never left my accessory table.  She matched with everything, glistened brightly in the sun, mellowed out in the bar, once again never losing my life necessities.  

Barbara was number 1 for my purse options.  Even thought she prefers not to make public appearances at bars, she could easily blend in- working both the day and night scenes.  A month ago I had to break it to Barbara that her "typical" look wasn't cutting-it anymore.  My new job required more space for my laptop, and needed a zipper to protect my favorite machine from the rain.  Barbara could not accommodate either, so she decided to hang on the back door- awaiting re-usage once again

See the thing is, Barbara started to fade slowly after her shoulder healed.  She was looking more and more tired- peeling on her sides, showing up raggedy in public- her dependency was waring.  B's skin would even shed onto my hands, at times making my public appearance very embarrassing and somewhat confusing.  Instead of swinging Barbara on my back, I had to hold her like a young child- afraid she would break at any moment.  

Barbara couldn't keep up with my new lifestyle- what with work and fancy New Yorkers to impress- her weathered face was out of style.  I had to break the news to Barbara today.  It's tough to let go.  I told her she was a great companion, and thanked her for all the good times we shared.

Barbara now sits next to the garbage can, waiting to be swept up by dirty gloves.  There was no other way to do it. But I don't doubt for a second that she'll be the most stylish bag New Jersey's landfill has ever seen.