It's not heavy, yet it holds a lot. There's room for stacks of letters, my embellishment kit nee Chicago lunch box, pens, cartridges, stationery, postage . . . You name it. And it rides well on the front seat. Heck, it's almost better than my regular bag.
The lining is worth examining. Wish it were waterproof. The one drawback? The top keeps falling on my hand. It won't stay open, so I'll have to fiddle with it. It hasn't stopped me from writing some overdue letters. I confess. Over the holidays, I fell into the habit of being lazy. It's a hard habit to break, but there will be no more catch-up marathons for me. If I kept it up I'd have to start smoking marijuana or something, to mellow me out. I was always a day late and $5 short when it came to things like being a hippy, tuning out and turning on, and my bras were so small they would have made fantastic fire starters--bonfires, they never would make. So, now I wonder if I would have made a good pot head? Would pot make me a better letter writer? A number one storyteller? Wow. Is there such a thing as marijuana tea? You reckon I watch too many documentaries about the wonder years? I wonder.
. . . to be continued.
P.S. And why is okay to get inebriated but not stone? (Singing, "Let's go get stoned!") Alcohol is deadlier than pot. Right? Right!