Clara has adopted one of Andrea’s old purses to carry around. She fills it with things that I assume she believes her Momma puts in her purse. For instance, it currently contains the shriveled peels from several small oranges, a pair of my dirty socks, and every one of her various 3 billion hair bows and bobbles. She left it on the backseat of my car today, and a small part of me wishes someone had broken in and stolen it, because imagine that guy hunkered down in an alley somewhere and suddenly realizing he just crossed paths with a total lunatic.