February 12, 2012
With school-week-number-four under my belt, I loosen it to lean back in a vibrating chair that relaxes tense neck and back muscles while a pedicurist massages my legs and paints my “piggies” a shimmering ruby red. With all of this pampering, a smile flirts with my lips.
Ahhhhh, TGIF! Ordinarily using moments like this one to brainstorm the next blog entry, I decide to rest my overworked brain. So I pick up the February issue of my favorite chick magazine, InStyle from the table beside me, sip a cool Chardonnay, and thumb through pages of actors — Drew Barrymore, Katy Perry, Lady GaGa and others — wearing the latest in gowns and jewelry. Suddenly blazed by klieg lights, one brilliant accessory emerges, front and center, upstaging the stars in their finery.
A simple envelope clutch roomy enough for an iPad.
I want to shake that designer’s hand. Freshly painted and newly inspired, I tie my Nikes back on and forge ahead in my quest for the perfect-er purse. Yes, I have tried to scale down to a Kate Spade and carry only the necessities. But how do you define necessity? The necessities of my life — cell phone, iPad, wallet, keys, mini-purse for cosmetics and other essentials — would require a bag big enough to carry Russet, my thirty-pound Finnish Spitz.
Again, I’m a woman on a mission. The same sales crew snaps to attention, furtively texting “redhead alert” to each other as they watch me troll the aisles of Macy’s, Nordstrom, Dillards, Penney’s, and Sears before sailing out, empty-handed, to hit the boutiques.
Barely setting foot through the door of Charming Charlie, I hear angelic strains of The Hallelujah Chorus as a heavenly light shines down on it — the Holy Grail of purses. Catching my breath, I handle the backpack/satchel/steamer trunk with retractable wheels as reverently as a new mother holding a newborn. Tenderly, I unlatch it and peek inside, noting its features and benefits.
First, it’s versatile. Pink is the new black, right? It dolls up sweats, upscales jeans, and snazzes up even a professor’s wardrobe. And it is sure to be the perfect red-carpet accessory for Academy Awards night when I accept the Oscar for Angelina Jolie — as I promised her.
Also, it’s roomy. Somewhere amid my paperback copy of War and Peace, tube of spiking gel, and assorted sticky-pads and paper clips, Russet curls up in there willingly, providing I drop in a Beggin’ Strip or two and let her out occasionally through a built-in doggie-door.
And, it’s insulated. A foil-lined partition inside holds my lemonade Rock Star and a roast beef sand…Hey, Russet, that’s mine!
Talk about sturdy? As claimed by the makers of Hefty garbage bags, this bad-boy is “tough enough to overstuff”.
It’s also secure. Anyone else who lays her meat-hooks on this baby will be shocked to hear the alarm — the hissing and rattling of a den full of Diamondbacks — triggered by one nefarious finger on its password-protected lock.
Speaking of passwords, the last and most important benefit. It’s user-friendly. The designer of this hot-Momma knows that today’s woman is as tech-savvy as she is fashion-forward. Accommodating her iPod, iPhone, iPad, and future iGizmos, is a hub in the bottom of the purse for docking and charging these addictive, Twenty-First Century doohickeys.
Now that I’ve found my dream purse, all I need is a two-hour session at Massage Envy and to reset the password I’ve already forgotten. I do hate rilin’ dem rattlers!