No Room for Peppermints
by
Mary A. Green
There was a time, whenever I got dressed up to go out, I’d try to choose a purse that complemented my outfit. Or one that was at least suitable for the season. A quick glance in the hall mirror usually assured me that I looked my best as I ventured beyond my front door.
And that purse wasn't merely an accessory. It also held an emergency supply of cosmetics and other personal items. It was where young mothers sometimes carried a baby soother, a package of arrowroot biscuits or a toddler’s security blanket. And children knew that Grandmothers had bags of peppermints in their purses and were ready to share these. Oh, yes, purses were also where we put our money.
There was a time when purse snatchings and muggings only happened in movies to the pitiful slum folk of large American cities. Now it’s something that’s happened to the elderly lady from a middle-class neighbourhood. Like the one who sat beside me on the city bus the other day. she confided in me saying that this was the first time she'd been out since that day last month when "this guy knocked me down and ran away with my purse." She explained this had happened "so unexpectedly", and how her bruises and scratches had been treated in emergency. She said that they were healed now, but that she was still "very nervous about going anywhere.
Because this type of incident has become common these days, when I dress to go out I no longer look for a purse that matches my outfit. I grab that shabby little over-the-shoulder number I can hide under my coat. Even the barest of essentials inside it still makes an unsightly lump over my left hip. And that’s not fair. I miss having all those personal items handy in case I need them. I am a grandmother without a place to carry my peppermints.
What's more, I own three good handbags; over my arm any of them would make me feel elegant, like the queen, as I walked down the street. But I don’t have a queen’s entourage of bodyguards. So I give the lump over my left hip a pat as I head out for a mall. If I happen to meet any of my grandchildren there, I’ll ask them to have lunch with me at some nice restaurant. I'll pay the bill with a credit card and the waitress will leave a mint-flavored candy for each one of us.
(This article appeared in the Manitoba Society of Seniors Journal - June 1998.)