When you just can’t see yourself giving up your bag today…
I got stabbed for my handbag by some little douchebag a few years back. Even though I very clearly saw the knife, it still didn’t register as being stabbed at that moment, until the little bastard pulled the knife out and stuck me again.
Mind you, this is in Chicago and there are probably 200 people within earshot. I wasn’t giving up that Dooney, not because it was a Dooney, but my .380lcp was in it, and I wasn’t going to be stuck in Chicago alone and unarmed. All my experiences with Chicago have been terrible, I won’t go there without a pistol. I went to a wedding in Chicago armed.
Anyway, I already knew what time it was when the kid got in my space. He showed me the knife and didn’t say anything at first. I said “bruh you might as well go on and cut me because I ain’t giving up this purse today”. In his defense, I did tell him to get to it. He stabbed me 2 inches under the belly button and he didn’t hesitate. He went the whole blade deep, then retracted, then all the way to the handle again. That was the weirdest shit to me, looking weeks later and seeing the outline of that handle as plain as day in this huge ass knot that I was stapled back together inside of. Even after they had gone in and repaired all the internal damage, that handle bruising me was still so evident and I guess it shocked me how hard he put that blade into me. Kid wasn’t fucking around.
I don’t remember saying anything, but I’m told by a witness that stayed and called the cops that I said “what the fuck? Did you stab me motherfucker?” Which in all reality sounds just like me so I’m sure I did. One person of those 200+ people stayed with me, but I don’t remember my legs giving out or anything, it was just standing then laying. Then when I realized I was laying, I saw blood on my arm and hand but I already knew it was a lot so I wouldn’t even look down. That’s when it caught fire it felt like. That shit was hot pain. Really hot pain.
I still have that Dooney. He ran after he stuck me the second time, I guess because I yelled what I did so loudly. That Dooney still has my blood on it, it’s my trophy for tenacity. Not so much tact and grace, but determination not to be another victim of a punk ass kid who thought a knife gave him the right to steal the things I worked for. I’m a woman, I already fear having my body stolen. You won’t make me afraid to carry nice handbags like you made me afraid to wear short skirts. Just because I’m a woman, it doesn’t mean I’ll lay down and take it.