I open my closet in the master bedroom and I am hit with so many sweet smells. I drink in the sight of my many, many boxes of purses with a whimsical smile. The smell takes me back to when I was a young girl and would play dress-up in my mom’s closet. I would flip on one of her shirts and pick out a matching purse. She would smile and laugh as I pretended to be an actress of a rich person who has an office meeting to go to. There were no limits to what I could come up with.

To my left, I see her small brown leather clutch. I trace the worn material and wonder what stories she would have told me on where she took that purse if she were here. I look at my huge collection. To a stranger it must look like such a vain hoarding.  I was lucky to work at her favorite purse store for many years before I got pregnant. I took advantage of my staff discount every chance I got. Each purse tells a story.  I have a few of hers before dad boxed up her stuff.  I have sold a few of mine over the years but it is hard. My constant changing of my mind propels me to keep them. I do not have much to remember about her, so I live our connections with these arm candies.

As a legacy to her grandchildren, I tell them about their grandma through these bags. It is quite possible that they inherited the fashion gene as when they were younger I would pull out a box for them to explore while I showered. It was great entertainment for them to unzip and play like I once did. One day, they will have my collection. After all, it is a wise investment. Trends come and go but legacies last generations.

My name is Danielle and I have a purse addiction.