While my "thing" for shoes has been well documented, I was never a purse gal.
I know purse gals...and I just never got it. I mean...A purse? The bag you carry your shit around in? What is the big deal?
For most of my adult life, I have been a very low maintenance purse female. I never thought much about what I carried or why..or how. Terrance would usually look at whatever I was lugging around and pronounce that it had to Go...and I would be presented with a new purse...which I would carry around until the next purse was presented and the old one confiscated by my spouse.
That was until I moved here to Montreal.
It was unexpected, my first sighting. I was browsing in Westmount in a cute little boutique and I saw it. Matt and Nat purses. It was orange, this first specimen, and completely impractical. I mean - an orange purse? I went back twice to the store and would hold this first purse. I couldn't bear to BUY it as I could not justify my parting with a hundred bucks for an orange purse.
Besides. I wasn't a purse girl. I am a shoe girl.
And then Terrance bought me the first one after we discovered that the orange one i had so coveted was gone. Pulled for being out of season....
It's the big one, the cognac Jorga. The smaller mustard one was an early birthday present this year...and the red one joined it's compatriots this week.
Because the demons that are Matt and Nat had a sample sale. And I went. Really, I just wanted a black one to match the other cognac "Bond Street" I got for my anniversary....
Which I found...and Then I saw this purse which so beautifully matched the computer bag I got for Christmas....
And from there it was a slippery, all vegan non-leather, slope - my friends.
The sale itself? PACKED. As in "I feel as if I am in a slaughterhouse line waiting to be zapped" packed. And Hot. As in "Hey, I now know what women in the workhouses in the 19th century must have felt like in these huge, no air circulation factory rooms right before the fire killed them and they formed the basis of a Stephan King book" hot.
But oh. The purses. The beautiful purses.
And there it was...calling my name as I walked through the door. The orange purse. Trainspotting, it is named. And it is now mine.
P.S. This is where I was.....You can see me at about 15 seconds in the film getting off the elevator.... Those women scared me outside.