Spring season, the purse was in the window, a multicolored patchwork type of purse. Patterned in gold, hot pink, silver, loud and boisterous colors-very unlike me! Not my style, not my type, but oh how I wanted that Coach purse!
I was curious to I squeezed past the tourists and “real housewives” to check the price. After all, it was an outlet store, it couldn’t be that bad! “350 dollars!! Are you kidding me? Even if I had the money to spend on the purse, I wouldn’t!” I said, almost believing myself. My sister laughed. She was more experienced in purchasing fine purses than I was. My sister bought one, on credit, saying she would pay it off with her next paycheck. I didn’t care if she paid it or not, I just wanted her to buy one for me as well! Not to be. I left the store disappointed, but not destroyed.
Who needs a Coach purse anyway? They are just the sturdiest, strongest, most fun purses ever! The leather, oh the smell of the leather! The sizes and shapes and varieties were endless. Again, it was just a purse!
Flash forward to Christmas. My sisters and I all had matching gifts from my Dad. Matching boxes we were not allowed to open separately. He made us wait till the end, but I don’t know who was more excited: us or dad. We ripped through the paper, thinking it might be matching blankets or a photo album of some sort. Low and behold, it was a purse, and not just any purse, a Coach purse!
Each one was different, appropriate for each of us. My older sister’s was purple and bright like her personality. My younger sister’s had the trademark “C” all over. Mine was camel brown, the biggest he could find, “So you can keep all your stuff in it.” he said.
Oh, the exquisiteness of that gift! I am not a materialistic person, but hat purse had stuck with me. My dad does not normally buy these types of gifts for us. He is thoughtful, of course, but this was completely unexpected. My dad said some women at his work party had won one and they were so excited. He had asked my mom why and she explained the importance of the purse. So, he had gone on his lunch break one day in the middle of the busy Christmas season to get one for us.
My purse has been well used. It has had crackers, water spills, pen explosions, Dr. Pepper spills, receipts, diapers (clean ones) and so much more put into it. It has been my diaper bag, my date night bag, my anytime bag! I haven’t switched out purses in two years. It makes me think about my dad. We go way back. We have always had a special bond. He called me “Hefer Ann” because that is what I called myself when I was younger and not because of my thunder thighs I had as a toddler, which I referred to as “hang hocks”! He took me on motorcycle rides, camping trips, snuggled me while we watched The Simpsons. Shared his kipper snacks, cashews and Andes mints. (I am still waiting on the Haagen Daaz!) He has taken me out every year for my birthday to wherever I want to go. He would holler Krispy Kremes down the hall some Saturday mornings, bright and early. This purse is just an object but really it is a symbol to me of love, sacrifice, and my dad.