Addicted

It's been six months since I last bought a purse. That is, until I bought one again about 20 minutes ago.

As I walked over to the street vendor, I thought I was strong enough to say "no" and to not give in to the temptation of purse buying. In the last ten months -- before today's purchase -- I had bought only two, one at Target this August and my favorite purse of all time at a vintage store in Columbia, Missouri, for $6.

But for months, I have wanted a grown-up girl's purse, one that could hold a book, reporter's notebooks and maybe a pair of shoes (if you read the entry from the first week of work, you'll know why). A professional bag that would go with my work wardrobe.

The vendor first priced the big, black purse at $30. No thanks. I said I couldn't pay that kind of money. Right away he dropped the price to $25, saying he never sold this purse for anything lower. No way. I wasn't even in love with this purse -- I try to only buy bags that I'm truly, madly, deeply in love with. I should have walked away then.

I said I'd give him $22, and you can guess his response.

I stood there for about 5 minutes, going back in forth between trying on the bag and looking inside it. On one shoulder, an angel kept telling me to walk away. There would be other purses. On the other shoulder, a devil clad with a pitchfork, told me to buy the purse. I had wanted one for so long.

Gray clouds hovering above and threatening rain, the vendor said he needed to put the purses away. He didn't have time to watch me analyze the possible purchase. So he gave me the purse for $22. A steal, he said.

Purse over shoulder, it didn't feel like a steal. In fact, I felt guilty, like I had just done a very, very bad thing. I was ready to confess to a priest. Instead, I confessed my sin to Ben.

I can't help this purse-buying addiction. If I had it my way, I'd have a purse for every kind of occasion.

But as I write this, I realize how stupid this addiction really is. Publicizing it can only help, I hope.