Since the day I began to carry a purse, I found myself leaning toward the bigger variety. You know the kind I mean. The ones you could stuff the kitchen sink into, if necessary. I have a tendency to save a LOT of paraphernalia, and much of it winds up stuffed into the bottomless pit which is my handbag. There has been quite a lot of joking regarding the size and weight of my handbags through the years, but it never bothered me.
Several years ago, my Mother babysat for a family friend. She would bring her baby, drop him off , pick up my niece and take her to school with her daughter. One morning, as I was getting ready for work, she came and brought the baby, and went back out to the car to wait for Kimberly and Anna. In a few minutes, the girls came squealing back into the house and told me they could not get out to the car. When I questioned them as to why they couldn't, they told me the neighbor's rooster( this was a trained fighting rooster) had gotten away from his owner and rambled into our yard. Well, he was a little on the aggressive side. Every time the girls tried to get to the car, he would get in between them and the car. We had a little "history" with these particular neighbors (if you know what I mean ), so I was irritated that we had one more thing to deal with. I looked around for something to chase him (the rooster) away with, and the first thing I laid eyes on was my big, bad purse. So, I picked it up and went outside. The chicken started toward the girls again, and I sounded the "battle cry" and ran toward him, swinging my purse. I felt like "Tawanda" (an Amazon mentioned in "Fried Green Tomatoes"). I actually only meant to chase him away, but I came closer than I realized, and my purse took him down with one whack. Well, he lay there for a couple of minutes without moving, and I thought, "Oh great. Now, the neighbors have one more thing to gripe about. I have committed chicken homicide. I wonder if this will make the headlines." But just about that time, he struggled to his feet and staggered off homeward.
The girls were thrilled that Aunt Deb had defended them. Off they went to school, laughing all the way about my weapon of doom, "The Purse".
But that isn't the end of the story. A day or so later, I noticed my stepfather was slow in coming to the house when called for mealtime. I looked outside and saw that the "offender" was back. He was actually doing the same thing to my stepfather (a senior citizen) that he had been doing to the girls. I stepped outside and started walking toward him (the rooster). When he saw me headed in his direction, he turned homeward and broke into a run. I guess he remembered me (or my purse).
You know, I don't remember seeing that rooster come back and bother any of us again.
By the way, it has been several years since this took place. Both Kimberly and Anna have graduated high school (Kimberly last year, and Anna this year).
Kimberly occasionally reminisces about the time I defended her from the rooster. She still thinks it is a hoot that I took him down with my old purse.