New Purse.

New Purse

It is a little 1986, isn’t it?

I wish I could feel worse about that, but there were a lot of good things about the Eighties. Um. John Hughes movies. Frozen yogurt. Giant, hilarious cell phones. Depeche Mode. Duran Duran.

Okay, here’s what happened. I went purse shopping. I wanted something big and compartmentalized, black, with silver accents. No tassels. No glitter. No plaid. No random anime characters. Simple, right?

But I kept coming back to this purse,  which is actually a rather rich teal, and has bronze-ish accents. And I looked at the black purses and they did not make my heart sing. They said, “Duty calls. We match the joyless dark heart of winter and will be very serviceable. We’ll be around for years.”

And I looked at this purse, and remembered seeing ones very like it at The Orientique,  when it was on Granville and Nelson when I was 14, and you could buy bullwhips and sparkly scarves and rose-smelling incense and cheap purses. This purse was humming “Rio” and it made me want to dance.It probably won’t last very long, like a 14-year-old boyfriend who you dump in a week because you like his best friend more, but that’s okay, because it’s some kind of material that begins with poly- so I’ll find a way to recycle it. And if it does last, so much the better.

I turned my back on serviceable black purses for adults, and chose the one that sings to my inner fourteen-year-old.  Because that girl? She needs some happy in her life.

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