Mom's Black Purse

I have four sisters.
They live in North Carolina, Oklahoma, Dallas, Texas, and the Panhandle of Texas, (which is a different world than the rest of Texas). We seldom see each other, but every great now and then we do all manage to get together. Last year I was hosting a great Thanksgiving get-together, so I hurried out to buy groceries enough for the families. The check-out counter was loaded with turkey, ham, cottage cheese, dressing, sweet potatoes, and egg nog.

As I lifted my purse to the counter, I noticed how shabby it had become. My secret pal had given it to me the spring before, and I had used it all summer out of gratitude, but now as I frowned at the daisies on the navy background I made a decision...time for a new one. Hurrying over to the general store, I frantically searched for just the right one...not too big, not too little, lots of pockets, solid black, silver metal parts(so it will match the most outfits...the rest will just clash, ok.) It took me a while, but I finally found the one in the entire two aisles worth that I could tolerate and bought it on the spot.

Thanksgiving. They arrived. We ate, visited, did dishes, laughed, played Balderdash, all the things families do, until day was weary and evening approached.
Time to collect our purses and go. Mine was right here.

No wait. It seemed a little different. Was it mine? No. That's not my phone. That one over there? "That's mine," said my mom. I see the scarf...and we all started laughing. All the purses were black--not too big, or little, lots of pockets. Crazy sisters. My daughter brought hers out from under the table. Black. Not too big....lots of pockets

Is it possible to inherit a purse preference gene?
So if you are related to me, and haven't sent me a picture of your black purse yet, join this pile.