There I was, long before the whole world shut down, waiting in line for a cup of coffee.  There was always a line at lunchtime in the coffee shop at Depaul University.  There in front of me were two young women who seemed set on doing their level best to “shock” the  middle aged nun behind them in line…me.   Mom used to call it “Russian hands and Roman  fingers.”  A small voice in my head said “the poor young student just doesn’t know” – “to which it added, Julie  you have been around the block more times then Richard Petty has been around a racetrack.” I smile inwardly and my brain goes back to the screaming it is doing for the third cup of coffee that will get me through the rest of the day.

Then she plays her trump card (see how quickly  phrases take on a new meaning in just three years?)

She starts talking to her friend about “old lady purses” for a while, then turns and says to me…

“Oh, I’m sorry”

 Zing. She fired off a good one.  

I was impressed. Really.  Mind you at the time I had a purse that could easily have fit a ’57 Chevy and still had room left over for a spare set of tires.  Things change.  These days I carry a purse that would look right at home on field maneuvers during my days in the 8th Army.  Made of heavy canvas and leather it is so durable it could probably take a light caliber bullet and not even feel it.  It might not carry much but it does it well and protects it like my dog protects her dinner bowl.

If I see her again I will challenge her to handbags at dawn. This time I have a purse that swings like a medieval mace.