Whilst stuck in one of Jakarta’s notorious traffic jams yesterday afternoon, I decided it was time to give my handbag a much needed clear out. Fortunately there was a carrier bag lurking in the depths of it which meant that I had a convenient vessel for putting all the rubbish in. Before I go any further, I need to make something clear; I am, generally speaking a reasonably tidy and organized sort of person. I hate mess and clutter and I can’t think straight, or work if there is shambles everywhere but, there are two exceptions to this rule; one is how I keep my handbag and the other’s my car. It’s said that women should be a slut in the bedroom and the sluttier they are the better no doubt, and that’s fine by me, but I don’t think I’ve heard told that it’s desirable for women to be slatterns when it comes to their handbags or motorcars.
The reason that I’m telling you this is, that having revealed in my last post to you that a significant birthday is coming up, I’ve been thinking about asking Irishman for a significant birthday present. Last year my birthday was a right-off as he had meetings all that week and the weekend and was therefore too busy to manage to get out to buy me a present. This year I thought I’d start making hints about my birthday weeks before the event so that he could prepare for it. I already know that he’s booked the day off work so that we can spend time together, but as far as I’m aware having now searched every cupboard and drawer in the apartment, there is no evidence of any present buying thus far which is worrying as we are just days away from the big event.
So here is the bag and the contents that I removed from it, and if anyone can boast a more filthy bag then I’d love to see photographic evidence – not that I’m remotely competitive or anything.
This bag which is sporting an image from Damien Hirst’s ‘Pharmacy Bar’, often gets admiring glances from passers-by who, blissfully unaware of it’s gross contents, compliment me on my ‘lovely bag’ and I love it too because it’s big and great for traveling (and also of course as a portable bin). I bought it last summer when we went to see the Damien Hurst exhibition at the Tate Modern in London but having now revealed to the world it’s shocking contents, I think you will agree that although the exterior is pure Hirst, the interior is definitely more akin to Tracey Emin’s ‘My Bed.
I can’t bear to think what Sigmund Freud would make of it. If women’s handbags really are symbols of their vaginas then mine’s very large, in a terrible mess and desperately in need of some vaginal rejuvenation, which is what got me thinking about my significant present…..
I took Irishman on a window-shopping trip the other day to show him a handbag that I’ve been lusting after for over a year now. Apart from a pair of outrageously expensive Prada sunglasses that I bought when under the influence of alcohol 18 months ago and then stupidly left on an aeroplane a couple of months later (strangely not under the influence of alcohol) I have never really coveted designer clothes or accessories which is a blessing really as there’s no way that I could afford them. Having said all of that, we are fortunate here in Jakarta because if one should so wish, there are some great places to get really good copies of designer clothes and bags at a fraction of the price that they would be anywhere else.
The object of my desire is a perfect copy/fake of a Hermes bag in a glorious orange colour. Irishman approves, and likes it a lot too, which is excellent as it means that in just a few days time it could be swinging jauntily on my arm if I play my cards right. There is just one small problem. On the way back from the shop Irishman asked me a question ‘Lottieness, if I buy you that bag for your birthday, can you 100% guarantee me that it won’t end up a filthy, disgusting mess like the rest of them?’
I couldn’t lie to him, I had to be honest. I told him that I fervently hoped that it wouldn’t, that I’d try to take the best care of it, that I’d try to never shove disgusting pieces of chewed up gum wrapped in old receipts or bits of grotty tissue in it, that I wouldn’t use it for carrying seashells on the beach or taking tasty smakerels about in. In short that I would do my upmost to keep it as clean and tidy as possible but, I couldn’t absolutely guarantee him 100% .When I woke up this morning my first rather shallow thought of the day was ‘Ohh Orange handbag’ and then with that in my mind, my second more sobering thought of the day was ‘Can you teach an old dog new tricks?’
The photo below has nothing to do with vaginas or handbags or anything really – it’s just a sign on the back of the ladies toilet. I haven’t a clue what it means other than that it’s the ‘rules and code of conduct’ when using the toilet – one of them being ‘please don’t have diarrhoea’?