Have you ever had your handbag stolen?

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I went out to dinner with my two oldest friends in the world last Friday night. When I say old, they are in fact both younger than me, but I have known them for most of my life. And they are super busy chicks, so this date was put aside BEFORE CHRISTMAS! I know. How completely ridiculous. Isn’t it funny how we put ourselves out for people that we don’t really like, but now with those who actually matter? I told this to my pals, who we will refer to as Penny and Kracker for indeed that is their names. (Except Kracker isn’t really her real name. We just call her that. Long story.)

Anyway, we got a chatting about this and that when the conversation turned to a holiday we had taken. This was done before weddings and babies, so we were footloose and carefree as we chilled out in Phuket. We talked about what I bitch I was when Penny fell asleep in the sun and I watched her turn crimson over the term of the afternoon. We talked about how I fell over on the main street while being chased by a tailor shouting “I MAKE BIG SIZE FOR YOU!”. And we talked about the time that I inadvertently pulled out an entire table from a bar onto the street.

What? Like you have never done it?

Ok, I confess. I am paranoid about my handbag getting stolen. You see a few months prior to this trip, I had celebrated my birthday with a group of friends and we ended up at this dreadful bar in Crows Nest called The Stoned Crow. At the time, it was one of those places that you know if you hear someone say “Let’s go to The Stoned Crow?” you should peel off then and there and go home. It was a small, dark bar that smelt like a urinal mixed with dog shit. And yes, I am being kind. But the DJ was pumping out some sweet tunes so we danced like no one was watching.


Some crook realised that my handbag was unattended, and flogged it. I did not notice for sometime, because I was distracted as my friend The Divine Ms. M had arrived and was wearing a full rabbit suit and was going nuts on the dance floor. And before you ask, she had been to a previous function. Anyway, after a while she started to suffer some sort of heat stroke, so we took a break from the disco and it was then that I realised.


I was super, super, super pissed off because it was the handbag that my boyfriend, a young Mr. Woog, had given me just that morning.

But back to Phuket. Penny and I were in this dodgy bar (are we sensing a theme here?) and I had looped the handles of my handbag under the table, such was my paranoia. We settled in for a good old session of boozing it up. Penny was complaining of her sunburn and I was putting in a solid effort to rid the island of all their vodka. After a while, we felt that our efforts were complete so we stood up to take our leave.

Now may I just point out in my defence, that this all took place a week after the September 11 attacks and everyone, including me, was as nervous as fuck about terrorists. So when I reached for my bag and it caused all the glasses to fly off the table and smash, my brain told me that we were under immediate threat of a bomb so I ran out onto the street, taking that table with me. I caused complete chaos. Red Penny was rolling around on the floor laughing and I had some questions from management to answer. But no one stole my handbag that entire holiday.


Have you ever had your handbag stolen?