The Guaranteed Pity of Handbags

Every thing is well in Mercybay or so we’d thought. A single period closer to finishing the local bay side reconstruction and every ambitious boater would have what they have imagined about and only visualized in the picture shows. One thing was for definet the locals where at there nerves conclusion with all the professional machines, all the early morning irritations, high decibel beeping noises from the trucks reversing up, and not to bring to mind the mud trails going from the building site to the freeway and beyond. Who could withstand another year of this chaos.

It all initiated with Mrs. Wills and that outdated overrated store of hers that was over run with enough luggage to pack the Chinese in. Don’t get me inaccurate the handbags where pretty nice, it was Mrs. Wills that everyone had had enough of. She persistently insisted on this over budgeted spendature in the bay location and since she was from a more “civilized” breed, as she often made known with everyone she related to and those relations allowed her much a sway in just the right places to get a thing like this past in an otherwise determined and even shrewd town committee board.

Evidently she had met some English bloke who had the market for designer handbags cornered from Venice to Ventura and he adored her something intensely, or so it was said. Never the less this bloke was a full with enough money to coerce our treasured little town and create what was sure to be a tragedy among developers, a story to be told for ages of how unfortunate Mercybay was run aground and left for a ghost town. Well all would not be forgotten, at least if I had anything to do about it. Who did I assume I was? That is a revelation for sure and especially to my wife Mrs. Wills. I mean for goodness sake our garage, our holdings, our every hollow space was shoved full of these handbags.