When I was a little girl, I was in awe of my mom’s closet. Her shoes, her handbags, her clothes. I loved everything. You’d find me practicing wearing her purses on my shoulder and wandering what it would be like to someday wear heels just like her. She had these black bow clip-ons for her high heels that when you flipped the plain, black bow over, rhinestones would appear. Those bows, to me, were pure magic.
As I got older, I’d still rummage through her things. I sadly could never wear her shoes, and let me tell you, the 70’s style heels she had were completely covet worthy. Year after year, items would end up in our downstairs closet where most things we couldn’t part with but we might just need someday went to live. There was an unspoken rule that anything finding it’s way to the basement storage was pretty much fair game. That’s when I discovered a few of her old clutches. I don’t know personally, but I’d say having children probably diminishes the clutch game, needing those hands free to keep tabs on the little ones. They’d most likely been moved to the downstairs years before, memories of nights dancing and dinner dates stored away for another time and place. After a quick “Can I have these?”, they were carefully packed away for the trip back home with me. I felt like I had won the lottery.
Sure they’re worn a little, with minor discoloration. The other clutch, a tan straw bag with red and green accents, is unraveling a tiny bit. But there’s something about them I love more than any other handbag I own – the history. One even has an old receipt that’s just legible enough to make out what my mom and dad had for dinner one evening many moons ago. I keep it securely in the bag, smiling every time I tuck the clutch under my arm. Now, if I could only get my hands on some shiny, rhinestone bow clips…