You mean, it’s not a man-purse?
In packing yesterday, I discovered that the strap on my satchel did in fact extend so that the sack itself was level with my waist. Before then, it had been parallel with my belly, qualifying it as, yes, a man-purse. But now, it’s a totally acceptable, dangly black satchel that nicely elongates my imperceptibly portly (at present due to my saturated fat-packed diet in San Diego) frame.
Thank the Baby Jesus.
On the plane home, I practically hyperventilated at the sadness of leaving. I had to turn on the air to calm myself. The BART semi-conveniently deposited me at the Powell station so I could hike uphill to my apartment. At least I got home before the rain set in. Such a shiny, happy return back to my favorite metropolis.
