scribblechic

I fell in love with a bag; bright contrasting colors, a symphony of shapes arranged artfully in large playful ruffles.  I wore the fabric masterpiece around the boutique, struggling to place the object of my affection at the register.  The spontaneous, fun-loving part of my brain was squealing with childish delight imagining lazy, summer afternoons as I embarked on adventures with my children; my bag a treasure trove of beach towels, snacks, and art supplies.

The logical part of my brain itemized complimentary outfits and balanced whim with nagging doubt.  Was the fabric washable?  Why wasn’t there an interior pocket for my wallet or cell phone?  Would I really use the bag or did I just like the impulsive imagine of myself the colors seemed to cast in my mind?

I didn’t buy the bag, but I found myself smiling all the same, quietly amused by the baggage that spilled free.  The frugal girl who worked through college and prefers a few, sentimental treasures to a chest of fabulous objects has never really outgrown wishes and window shopping.