Fossil Bag

The other night I had to run errands after my husband and I put our daughter to bed. It had been a hell of a day, week, month. Do you know the nights when your head is pounding so hard with noise that you are not even seeing what you are looking at? I mean, without alcohol? That is me right now. I even get behind the wheel of a car and drive this way.

Anyway, I had to run to Macy's to try to find a suitable luggage piece that would somehow make traveling alone tomorrow with a toddler a piece of cake. I didn't find it. Instead I found some absurd, horribly blue, stiff luggage piece that had more compartments than room. I was even sweating and crying a little. No, for real. Real sweat and real tears.

As I was leaving with that damn bag and all of my self-pity, I saw it. A purse made by Fossil that is so completely me or at least how I see me: slouchy, impractical looking and accommodating. It was expensive and perfect...it fits diapers, wipes, wallet, cell phone, rice cakes, a Blue's Clues book, and chap stick.

The rest is a blur. I bought it and I promise you, Internet, instantly my boobs perked up, my eyelashes grew, and stomach flattened. Suddenly everything else seemed fine too.

I am not usually subject to this type of retail therapy, but that brings me to another thing that this purchase taught me: to let go of the need to explain myself.
Look at me...all grown up.