That Purse

That Purse my mother carried was black. She filled it with quarters. I’ll never forget it. I always wondered why she filled it with quarters. Rolls and rolls of quarters.

I was standing in the bathroom watching her put on her mascara that day in the bathroom and we were listening to Diana Ross sing “Aint no mountain high enough” and my dad walked in and said, “Why in the hell are you putting all that makeup on to go to work?” Wash it off! Now!  Then, he threw a washcloth at her and started toward her like he was going to hit her. and like a flash she pushed me behind her and swung that purse at him like wonder woman.

She knocked him out quicker than Mike Tyson knocked out whoever he was fighting that year. ( or whoever was the fighter that year lol.)

My mom had finally won the damn war of her life.

Dad? Was in the bathtub. Out. Cold.

We walked straight out of that room like queens. We didn’t give two shits what he was doing. We didn’t care if he was cold. We were fine.

That is where I am today.

I love but, I’m tired. I shaved my damn head. lol.

Christ. Women are crazy.

wow. Just WOW.

That is all.

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