[This was a writing prompt from the Chilmark Writing Workshop, which I had the pleasure of attending September 15-18, 2014.]
The way you see it, if Mary Poppins’s carpetbag romanced a Boy Scout’s knapsack, the illegitimate offspring would be jealous of the sheer volume of things I carry in my tote.
I carry a mess of crumpled, wadded tissue, a habit passed down from my mother, who would pull a paper towel of questionable origin from her pocketbook and tell me to blow my nose, as she licked her thumb with a smacking sound and smudged dirt from my cheek. I try to replenish with clean packs, but it is always allergy season when you’re allergic to grass, and my nose is forever a faucet. Read the rest of this entry »