I can feel it in my hand, it's the perfect texture and heft. I see it in my mind, it's shape is perfect and so pleasing to the eye. I can smell it, and catch myself breathing in deeply, inhaling, even as I sit here at home, at my desk.
I can't stop thinking about it. I've been thinking about it for months. I was visiting it from time to time but I had to stop myself, it was pure torture to run my hands along it and know that it was not coming home with me. It was certainly not mine; I would talk myself into biding my time, in hopes that someday, the stars would align and I would quite greedily take it home and just own it. I know others have heard its siren call, too, I just never imagined that I would be one of them, one of many who know its allure and succumb to its charm.
Recently, I couldn't help myself, and found myself parked in front, my eyes hungry for the prize, searching out the contours they know so well.
It wasn't in the usual spot, and it wasn't the usual color, but I still held it in my hands, turning it this way and that, appreciating the craftmanship.
I approached the saleslady. "Where are the rest of the Penelope shoppers?" I ask, because while the one in my hands would do, it's not The One. "That's one of the last ones we have," she answered, "but I can look and see if we can get any others from another store."
My heart sank, disappointed. I had hoped that if I waited long enough, I could talk myself into taking the plunge. The ladies out there will understand. The object of my desire, the thing I can't stop thinking about, is a....purse. I hang my head a little in shame admitting it, but I know if I admit it, and let my desires be known, I can hopefully exorcise this demon and get on with my life.
In the Coach store, a few months ago, I first saw the Penelope 'Shopper' bag. Now, I don't frequent Coach, although, occasionally, I do go in there out of girly curiosity. I love their stuff, I just have never been able to get my brain wrapped around the price tag. I'm practical, and I know that a nice bag around my little ones wouldn't be so practical. But now they're not-so-little, and I hide behind the price tag. The larger bag is just shy of 400 bucks. The smaller one? 350. I fell in love with the navy one, as it was perfect; the perfect-neutral-shade-that's-not-black, almost a denimy color. Great for jeans, but able to be dressed up for other ensembles. Oh, and the lilac colored one? Get out. Purple is my favorite color (but it was much too light--it would get dirty and probably only best trotted out in spring/summer). Now, navy is no longer available, nor is the lilac. There's black, tangerine (it looks tan online), white, and platinum. The platinum is nice, it's got a lilac-striped interior.
I didn't know Coach doesn't carry stuff for more than a couple of months (crafty bastards) and that once this style is gone, it will be gone indefinately.
I really, really, want it, too. It's ridiculous, the longing so unsensible it borders on annoying. Mr W has offered once or twice, but then I tell him no; objecting, "It's 400 bucks. Good lord, it's a purse. There are other, more necessary things we need more. No. Absolutely not." He gets pretty irritated with me, but I am firm.
Until I see myself with it in my head, it sitting in the spot between the seats. I see my iPod in it, and my latest read, I imagine it swinging off my arm as I go into work. I can feel the supple leather whisper in my hands...
Out, out, damned spot.
I'm usually not like this. I can talk myself out of most impulses, but this time...*sigh* I have resigned myself to admiring it from afar. In my mind, I can caress it and inhale, and let myself get a little dizzy from its light leathery scent.
The sensible part of my brain reminds me that Mr W has to have dental work (is that ever cheap?), there are band fees for Fall coming up, and dogs that need vet visits...it's an important reality check that makes me put it back on the shelf and head out the door.
As I make my way back out into the mall towards my car, I start to feel better, the little pang diminishing as I get further away.
I know the siren song will return. I will hear the call and replay the high points, admiring all the angles in my mind.
While not as nice as the real thing, it's a good substitute for now.