The New Purse

I have been looking for a new purse for 3 months now. This quest included putting it on my Santa list and causing my husband to have a mini-nervous breakdown at the hand of an over eager Nordstrom sales girl over the amount of choices she provided him. I can't do it at Nordstrom though. I can NOT commit nor justify a purchase with 2 zeros at the end for something that will have gum stuck to it and pen marks in unsightly places by the following Tuesday, if I'm lucky! With that said, Santa did not bring a new purse. He apologized. The Mrs. Claus in me went on a search for the perfect handbag that would put any shopoholic to shame. I went everywhere. Macy's, JcPenney, TJ Maxx, Ross, Target, Wal-Mart, back to Nordstrom, Dillard's-nothing was right, nothing said buy me, nothing said "I go with black and brown!". I was discouraged, disgruntled, and disappointed in my lack of fortitude in this mission. I went to important sales meetings with my good old faithful, cracking Target special for this whole time, hoping that no one would see the stitching jumping off the seams. I was losing my womanhood. My edge. Handbags define us. They shouldn't, but there's something special about finding that just right bag. I didn't give up. Thankfully, I know the Ross schedule for new item deliveries and yesterday I browsed through and picked up 5 bags that would be ok, not spectacular, but they were at least new-they'd do, but they didn't meet the requirements. Those are-must zip, must not make me look like I sell myself on the corner, must have outside of purse cell phone pocket, must go with any color (including that bright green I douse myself with) on a whim, must not be so big that I am now carrying a suitcase. As I strutted through Ross, looking at how big or small the bag made my butt look, I sighed. I dropped them all (I will be writing an I'm sorry card to the employee who had to re-shelve them) and walked out of the store once again with my head hung low. I walked 2 doors down to Target, focused on the paper towel purchase needed, and I thought, let me just check. I walked up and down the purses, not once, not twice, you know the drill. Then, as if a light hit the shelf in just the right angle, I swear I heard a choir, I found it. It fit all the prerequisites and only had two digits in it's price. I FOUND IT!!!! Like Indiana Jones finding lost treasure, I had found my purse! This ending is always bittersweet. The transfer of the crap from one bag to another. I found myself examining my old faithful, thanking it for not blowing out in an inopportune time, and for hiding my feminine products successfully. As I threw it's fake leather straps into the garbage, I bid it farewell and good luck and remembered all the good times we had. The new one is stuffed and in waiting, looking like a soldier ready for war. I'll try to be gentle and grateful I am for a new purse I've secured!