In glorious technicolour… ta-da!
Yip. That’s your brain.
You think I’m kidding? Well I’m not. It goes like this…
My bag died a slow, nasty death. It started with the handle slowly detaching itself, first one side, then the other. After that, it suffered a chronic zip failure and it was pretty much downhill from there. So I did what every self-respecting mom would do. I borrowed my teenagers funky blue bag. All was great until she had a movie date with friends, and spoke the dreaded words, “Mom, I need my bag.” Drat.
I tucked my purse deep into my armpit, carried my phone and went bag shopping. Now you must understand my history. The last five bags that I have owned have been identical. Black, practical and identical. I go to the same fleamarket, find the same lady (she calls herself ‘The Bag Lady’) buy an identical bag and life goes on without a…
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