Pursenal Problem

I know this will shock many of you, but I am a frivolous person. After the Chinese food post, Snarkboy suggested that I reveal that I too am human and not queen of the world. So in order to keep the three people that read this blog from leaving, I have to admit I have an expensive handbag fetish.

Now, wait. This is definitely not like people with a foot fetish. They are indiscriminate. I think their only criteria is that the feet be clean and corn-free.

No, my fetish is worse. Feet-watching is free, purse-buying is not. I have a taste for Kate, Tods and Gucci. For everyday, Kate or Tods is the choice. I have ten shades of black and five shades of brown. I do not buy pink, blue or lilac. I might be convinced to buy a light tan, but I have not graduated to red yet.

I am a purse snob. I can afford the above-mentioned. I have not upgraded to anything more expensive ... yet. It's affecting gift giving, also. My mother bought me a perfectly beautiful Coach once. It is still sitting in my closet with the tags on. I might put it on eBay when she isn't looking.

You might wonder, "isn't a purse a purse?"
Oh no, it is so much more. You might get the occasional woman who might not know (shudder) or might not care what they are seen toting. They are few and far between (and not worth knowing). But it is pure joy when you meet a fellow addict who strokes the leather of your Tods media bag and murmurs that she always loved that color, and, "where did you get it?"

I went to a luncheon at a country club a few months ago. I noticed that the standard mode of greeting was catching someone by their ring finger to see if they were worth sitting by. The next step was to save your seat by plunking down your purse on the table so your tablemates could glance over and make sure you were up to date. I have seen a few bags surreptitiously moved aside to make way for this year's model.

I did not perform this particular dance because I was someone's guest, so I hung my purse (Kate Spade) on the back of my seat. I did get to sit with the in-crowd because my hostess brought her Gucci leather hobo which is always in style.

As anyone knows, The holy grail is the Hermes Birkin bag. I am not in the realm of such a bag, I just dream of the day when Snarkboy strikes it rich and puts my name on the waiting list. He informs me that this will happen with Husband No. 2. If a man buys me a Birkin, I am prepared to move to Utah and be a bigamist. Why not divorce Snarkboy, you ask? Because you can't divorce someone who cooks like a dream.

Yes, you may look at my feet ... if and when you buy me that expensive purse.