Personal Baggage

Zach points out that I love bags. "You do. You have how many bags now? C'mon, you love buying them."
I recoil in horror. "What? I don't have that many bags!"
Do I?
I don't think so. And to my credit - I certainly don't have any ones that are expensive. I mean, honestly, my hot purchases come from Target. I don't have a Coach or Fendi handbag among the bunch.
But while I'm not the Imelda Marcos of handbags, I do sort of have an obsession. Which is so strange given my past history with them. When I was a kid, I was always losing them. I quite clearly remember leaving my little hot pink purse at a store (along with I think one of our bags) and getting all the way to the other end of the mall before remembering. Needless to say, my mom was not happy about having to drag my brother and I and all of our purchases back to the store to retrieve my purse.

I think it's possible that I keep coveting more bags because I haven't found the right one yet. I have commitment issues. I keep hoping to find that perfect mate that will carry all I need, look great with any outfit and not mock me for wearing tennis shoes with everything. Oh sure, I keep finding bags and we have a good time - for awhile- but then the craving sets in. That desire for something new. A look at that green grass that the neighbor keeps talking about. And then I'm off. In search of the next best thing. I'm a bag whore I guess (note the order of those two words, it's not the other way around). I'm all about going for the next best thing. When will this silly roller-coaster ride of emotions end?

Who can say? All I know is that for now. I'm enjoying the ride. On a related note, I just got a new black bag that I can take things to school in and I'm really digging it. It has a bunch of pockets and I've filled it with all sorts of awesomeness. It's fabulous.