Don't mess with a southern woman's pocket book

Dixie Dew didn't notice, but I did. She was too busy sniffing grass and prancing her bigger-than-it-should be tail, while I was casually observing life during an afternoon walk.

First, I noticed the woman leaned down pulling a weed or something from the landscaping in front of her tiny white-framed house. She was dressed in a yellow floral housedress with a fabric belt tied at the waist, and flat, sensible shoes that tie up the front. The kind of shoes that women of her age - the older ones - often wear. Dangling from the crook of her left arm was a black pocket book with a gold clasp that fastened it together at the top.