A Beautiful Bag, Inspiring Book, and Big Words

Yesterday afternoon I left Jack napping on my bed and went to the bathroom. When I came out, there was a box on my bed. My mother had brought in the mail. The box was addressed to me and it was from my friend, Amy. I vaguely remembered that she’d asked for my address awhile ago and I thought maybe she wanted to send us a Christmas card.

That’s a big ass card.

Amy and I met via my blog back when it was slumming on Myspace. On her way home from a cross-country roadtrip a few months ago, she stopped to spend the night at our house. It was the first time we’d met in person. Amy’s good people so I had no reservations about opening up my home to her and her lovely daughter.

When I was pregnant with Jack – before we knew Jack was a boy, I’d picked out the names Isabelle and Jack for the baby. Amy quickly dubbed the fetus, “Jackabelle.” Amy also bought Jack his first baby bath complete with a jacuzzi. More than anything though, Amy has always been one of those people that believed in me as a writer. More importantly, she believes in me as a Mom and a woman capable of doing big things.

Now, because of all this, I assumed the box contained something for the kids for Xmas. And because Jack was sleeping and I was sure the sound of me ripping into the box would wake him, and also because, um, yeah, I didn’t think the box contained anything for me, I was in no rush to open the box.

Donny came home from work about an hour later and found me still sitting next to a sleeping Jack and the box on the floor next to the bed. I’d forgotten it was there.

“What’s that?”

“Something from Amy.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t know. Wasn’t expecting anything. It’s probably something for the kids. You can open it if you do it in the hallway so Jack doesn’t wake up.”

Donny takes the box into the hall and sticks his head back into the bedroom a moment later.

“Nina.”

“What?”

“You don’t want to know what’s in this box.”

“Oh my God. What? Is it good or bad?”

My mind immediately flew to the end of the movie Seven.

Why would Amy send me Gwenyth Paltrow’s head?

Donny reaches behind his back and reveals…

I literally did a double-take. I thought, “Donny is full of shit. He bought me that bag and Amy sent some sugar cookies or something. Or maybe, that’s a cake designed to look like a Coach bag.”

No, it was really a bag. THE bag.

When Amy came to visit she’d just finished getting her business off the ground. Red is the color of choice. Amy has flaming red hair – unruly curls. And the hair inspired her logo and design for her site and business cards. The new Coach bag she’d bought was the perfect bag for her new Mac. More than that, it was the perfect accessory for a woman about to do big things.

I fell in love with that bag. I touched it. I smelled it. I wouldn’t let it go. And though she’d known me for years, it was the first time we’d met and I worried that she might think I was a nut. I assured her that I would not beat her about the head as she slept in my family room and steal her bag. At least, not with my kids in the house. I’m sure she did think I was crazy though. She had no way of knowing that the moment I enter a department store and set my sights on a designer bag with a funky design in a bright color, I gravitate towards it. I rub it. I smell it. I moan. I molest it.

My first thought was, “I can’t accept that bag!” I scrambled to find Amy on Facebook so I could ask her what kind of crack she was smoking. Donny handed me the bag and inside it I found…

Tinesha is an author and good friend of Amy’s. Including Tinesha’s novel, “Holler At The Moon,” said to me that Amy was reminding me, “I believe in you. You can do this too!” Both the bag and book was Amy’s way of saying, “You too will do big things.”

And this blog is my way of saying, thank you.

Donny later said, “You are so lucky.”

No, luck would be walking down the street and tripping over a brand new Coach bag. Blessed is having generous friends that believe in you.

And really, the moral of this story is: I don’t care what the bible says. It’s okay to covet your friends’ shit!

***

One of my assignments is going to a really big store that we have all heard of, once a week, and merchandising a display of helium balloons. I’ll be writing about that next week. It takes about an hour, and while I work, Donny shops. Last night, he and Jack did some shopping while I worked in the back of the store where people come to pick up their internet orders. It’s usually very quiet and I can blow up my balloons and do my paperwork with no interference from employees or customers.

Just as I’d gotten started, an announcement was made that an associate was needed to pick up the line for a Site-to-Store order. A young white girl came from the back and picked up the phone behind the counter where I was standing. Part of my job is to determine which balloons that have been previously placed need to be re-inflated or scrapped. When I decide to scrap one, I pop it with a pen, push out the helium and toss it in the trash.

I’d just popped a balloon for the movie Cars when the girl on the phone turned to me. I thought, at first, that she was going to ask me to keep it down. Instead, she asked if I could get the name of the person on the phone because she had a hard time “listening and writing fast.”

I took the phone and asked the woman to spell her first and last name. She did. It was something really simple like Kate Brown. I could sense a little annoyance and amusement in her voice. I wrote the name on a piece of paper, thanked the lady and handed the phone back to the associate.

A few minutes later she turned to me again, “Can you please write down this new name. I’m not finding it.”

Mind you, I am NOT a store employee. I am a vendor sent to blow up mylar balloons!

“OK, ma’am, can you spell the name for me again?”

She does.

I look up at the computer monitor and see two orders, but neither match the names the woman on the phone had given me. The associate asks, “Did she get an email telling her the order was in?”

‘Ma’am, did you get a confirmation email telling you the internet order arrived at the store?”

“No, but it was supposed to arrive on the 14th.”

“OK. Well, I don’t see it here in the system.”

“Ask her if she has the order number,” the associate instructs.

“Do you have the order number? We can look it up that way.”

“No, not with me.”

“OK, well if you can call back with the order number, we’ll try again. If not, you might want to wait a day or so and see if you get that confirmation email.”

“OK. Thank you.”

I hang up the phone.

“Wow! Your English is so good.”

Is she kidding me?

“What’s that big word you used?”

I start racking my brain, trying to remember what big words I used while talking to the woman on the phone.

“Confirmation?”

“YES! That’s it. I would never use a word like that!”

True story.