When I was little, my Aunt Winnie would visit from out of state, and I was fascinated with her purse. I must have asked what she kept in there because whenever she came, she would let me look through it. I don’t remember specifics of what I found, but I do remember telling her she should go on “Let’s Make a Deal” because whatever Monty Hall might ask for, she would have in her big bag.
I have a fully stuffed purse myself now, and I’m not sure I even know what all is in there. I was waiting for Mass to start one Sunday when I overheard a lady behind me tell her friend that she must have scraped her arm on a tree branch because it was bleeding. Neither of them had purses. “Hmm, I thought. I probably have something she could use.” So, I started to dig and found multiple sizes of Bandaids and some alcohol wipes. I handed them back to her.
Months later I was at church when the woman recognized me. “You’re the one who saved me the day I cut my arm,” she said, “Your purse is perfect!” It was then that I realized I am my generation’s Aunt Winnie. I don’t plan to go on today’s version of “Let’s Make a Deal,” but if I did, I just might win some money.