My search for a new best friend

My handbag seems to be one of those personal things that grows on me and feels comfortable. I get a familiar attachment to the perfect bag. It is not necessarily expensive or even trendy, it just has to have the right feel and the right amount of compartments. Once I find Mr Perfect it invariably leads to the replacement of the old favourite.

Now here is where it it gets tricky. If I have come to this stage it must mean the old handbag has had it’s day, is past it, damaged, tattered, and completely useless. Even acknowledging this fact, I am loathe to part with it. This bag and I have that special bond. It knows my intimate secrets. It holds my little black book in which I keep my important information; my life’s daily happenings. My diary in which everything must be written for posterity, so I know where and when I should be elsewhere or somewhere. It knows how much money I don’t have and it is the keeper of my meds. Cold tablets, headache pills, Juicy Fruit and odd loose Tic-Tacs.

It holds my endless supply of tissues, but I tend to add serviettes from cafes just in case, which is a habit I cannot break from living in China and an endless worry about no toilet paper. It must contain the perfect space to keep my smartphone easily accessible.

Now, with all that in mind the search begins. It is not a decision to be taken lightly. I inconspicuously browse the selections. This is not done rashly, and I am often interrupted by the the salesperson asking silly questions. I am not daunted on my mission.

Ahhh… My hand hovers over over an exciting prospect, alas it is not the one. Now, I am about to embark on a cruise adventure in the near future so I am thinking a useful, compact backpack is the solution. My children have negative advice on this item although I have ventured down this path before. I like the idea of hands free. Their input is that a handbag is a fashion statement and says something about you.  

The time has come for the choosing. After endless seeking I have decided on the sleek black backpack. It was a toss up between the beige conservative number, but my idea of return to the backpack won out. I pluck it from its rack and thrust it at the saleslady. She is awesome in her professionalism, and she signs me up for loyalty cards and assures me it is a perfect choice.

I arrive home in high excitement over my new acquisition. I transfer all items from old mate into my new best friend. It all fits perfectly, tissues and all. Without a moment’s hesitation I clutch old mate to my chest, dash outside before there is a change of mind and quickly stuff it into the big red lidded garbage bin – this is a non-return, automatic-destruct on Wednesday, never to be seen again binning.

Ahh yes, it’s a stressful mission, but it must be done. Today I took my new best friend for a walk to the shopping centre; a trial run if you like. Performance was exceptional – once I got the strap length right. Methinks I’m onto a winner.

We are about to embark on a new adventure.