My Handbag

My Handbag ©

By Michael Casey

As you can imagine a man as sophisticated as me really must have a handbag, doesn’t every man? I first say a male handbag in France, or was it Italy, the word manbag wasn’t invented then. I noticed that the bus drivers all seemed to have one. A kind of overgrown shower bag really.

Obviously from that moment on I just had to have one, this may have been 20years ago. Where would I put my loose change, and a comb, and a pen and a metro map.  It was hot and I was in Paris, I was young and fancy free. I had sat down and injected ink into my right  buttock. I jumped up and  stabbed myself in the chest with my comb, one of those dangerous ones with a separate handle. As I danced like a Red Indian at a pow-wow in the entrance to the metro station, I took out my handkerchief and dropped it to the floor. Tourists thought it was an act and threw coins into my handkerchief.

As I rubbed my buttock and my chest alternatively, ladies of the night approached and danced next to me, this resulted in more coins being thrown into my handkerchief. They went away laughing, I bent down to retrieve my handkerchief only to have my bum squeezed by a 90year old French woman wearing a red beret. I would have hoped she enjoyed the thrill but she squeezed the sore buttock. So I jumped into the air screaming. Applause from the audience.

Now I deserved a drink so I made for the nearest bar, I could afford a beer with my earnings. In the bar I looked around and saw men and their manbags. So I drunk my beer and approached a group of drivers to ask where they got their bags from. Tatti was the answer, which is a cheaper than cheap department store in Paris.

Leaving the bar I needed a Kebab, as does every man traveling alone in Paris. So I had my Kebab and went back to my hotel satisfied. Though I was mistaken.  The night was a Dark Night of the Soul, which is a Spiritual concept. However in my case it meant food poisoning. My hotel was in a bad area, by Gare du Nord, my friend or should I say former friend had convinced me it was a nice area and it was dirt cheap too. That half right, it was a dirt area.

The hotel room had a shower with the sink and toilet all jammed together. Imagine the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, but instead of entering the wardrobe and enter up in Nania. You squeezed into a wardrobe like space for the toilet and shower. Many times that  night I entered the confessional, for again it was that small. I wished I was dead. I thought I was dead and in the depths of Hades, only in my case I was trapped in a phone booth like shower and toilet, which considering what was happening to my body was very convenient.

In the morning the sun rose, the state of my soul I cannot imagine, but I must have begged God a billion times to end my torment. Perhaps I had seen Hell itself in my broom cupboard of a shower and toilet space. So showering again, and I did need it I got dressed and had went down stairs.

Downstairs in a postage sized room I had my breakfast of rolls and coffee. I had paid francs for it so I was going to have it if it killed me. The rolls were very nice, so I had three, even though my head pounded like the drums at an African wedding. Then with an Au Revoir I hit the street.

I really did nearly hit the street, cos I tripped on the curb. In the distance I saw a cross, no nothing to do with church and God, no it was the green cross the symbol for pharmacy in Europe. I went  inside and practiced my French. Avez vois des aspirin de bas pris I asked. Which is do you have some cheap aspirin please, why do certain brands of aspirin cost so much. I slapped the money down on the counter and I went away happy.

The Dark Night of the Soul, had not yet ended. I read the writing on the side of the box. Aspirin Tamponne it said, I though what, is this a new way to take aspirin. And how was I supposed to take them, I was a man after all. Inside the box was a tube. I opened the tube and inside that was a giant pill, as big as extra strong mints, about an inch across, no string attached. Relieved I shoved the mint in my mouth, only it fizzed, I looked like a rabid dog. You were supposed to take them with water. So I went in search of bottled water.

I made my way to Tatti in search of my manbag, only to discover why Tatti was called tatty. It really was TATTY, I was amazed just how, well tatty Tatti was. So I never bought a manbag after all. I did buy two full length men’s coats instead, wool blend, I still have the blue one in my wardrobe upstairs. Right next to my wife’s collection of handbags. But that is another story.