Have Bling, Will Tote-M
[imgbelt img=handbagloaded530.jpg]The rural convenience store does multiple duties as gas station, grocery, gift shop, and downfall for the purse-addicted.
[imgcontainer left] [img:utotem320.jpg] [source]Tulsa TV Memories
In rural areas some convenience stores swell with merchandise, becoming more like a local department store. They carry everything from potatoes to toys and, gulp, fashionable female accessories.As a rural long-distance commuter, I am dependent on the convenience store. I make a stop every morning at our local one in Overton, primarily for coffee and much needed conversation. If I need gas on the way home, I’ll stop at the big fancy one in Mt. Enterprise.
The Mt. Enterprise “convenience store” out on the highway is actually two stores in one: a fast food place and an attached store. It’s absolutely glorious. The bathrooms are freakin’ huge and clean, and the coffee is pretty good. The staff is always nice; somehow they manage a cheery greeting no matter the weather or hour. But what fascinates me about this place is that it’s much, much more than a convenience store. It is a small department store. They sell everything from beer and potato chips to handbags and gifts for all occasions.
Wait, did I just say handbags?
O.M.G. Handbags.
You have to understand, handbags (and shoes) are two of my addictions (yes, I have more than two). I love handbags. I love the feel of them, the satisfaction of being able to stuff my entire life in a single space, and the thrill of hunting for some lost object at the very bottom, buried in the faux leather darkness.
I buy most of my handbags either at the mall or online, and as much as I crave them, I really don’t buy them that often, maybe once a year, usually more like every couple of years. When I make the investment in a new handbag, it’s got to last. I still use handbags I got in high school – they are timeless, classic pieces (now “retro,” so that makes me cool with the hipsters).
Buying a new handbag for me is no easy purchase. It has to meet all kinds of criteria. Is it nice looking? Is it well made? Will it suffer abuse well? Is it big enough to hold all my crap and not pull my shoulder out of its socket?
So imagine my surprise when I fell in love (at first sight) with a handbag I saw at the convenience store in Mt. Enterprise.
. It was lightweight. I wasn’t sure about the stitching – it looked a little iffy. And the bling – western themed, big buckle bling. Something I have always avoided, I’m really not the rodeo type. I’m no skinny little barrel racer, I’m an old, big butted trail rider, more partial to slow moving horses than equine crotch rockets. So I was thinking this wasn’t going to work me. It’s just not me.</p><p>So I bought my coffee and left.</p><p>I’ll be damned if I didn’t think about that darn handbag all freakin’ day. I worried: Will it be there this evening when I drive home? Will some trucker buy it for his girlfriend? What will I do if it’s gone?</p><p>I grew convinced that the outside of the handbag was invisibly painted with crack or some other highly illegal and immediately addictive substance that I had absorbed through my skin. How else could I explain my feelings towards it? No doubt about it, I was in love, and desperate.</p><p><div class=)
 and walked to my car swinging my new found companion with glee. I got looks from women both coming into the store and leaving. They stared at me, looked at the bag, and smiled. They knew how I felt. We bonded in silence.</p><p>That is until one of them yelled at me from across the parking lot “Damn it! I was just coming in to buy that!”</p><p><em>Kelley Snowden, an Adjunct Professor, teaches geography at Stephen F. Austin State University in Nacogdoches, Texas. She is also a research associate with the Center for Regional Heritage Research at SFASU and a chronic handbag collector.</em></p></div><div class=)
