The sucker in seersucker

I am a sucker. In a town of seersuckers I  have just put the sucker on that word. But how can one possibly resist????????I am only human. I love sales. Sadly, I also have what my husband calls caviar taste on a fish stick budget. So true to form, I have been admiring the Stella McCartney Falabella bag from afar. I pop in to visit her at Saks here and there, I google it just to see the images. I put it over my shoulder, walk to the mirror and admire it. Then an image of "Confessions of a Shopaholic" comes to mind. Becky is admiring the green scarf and she imagines herself walking down the street, saying to herself " people will refer to me as the girl in the green scarf"... I want to be referred to as the girl with the Falabella bag, even if that Kardashian skank owns it. Not even THAT can ruin it for me.  I look at the price tag, sigh and put it back. I am not a shallow ditz with a credit card. I don't believe I am entitled to things just because.I have lived in Africa, I know how many families would eat with that amount. And still, I give it one last longing glance and leave the store. I keep checking it out online. I look for it on ebay in the hopes that a sick shopaholic needs to get rid of hers to buy lunch. No luck. I show it to my husband, hinting Christmas is around the corner. He barely looks at it. No sale. Next day I have a friend in town, she is here to shop. There is a sale at Saks. I am so convinced I am not there to shop but to play tour guide, so much that I leave my credit card at home and only carry my husband's. Who should I run into , but the the gorgeous Falabella  quilted bucket bag. Forty percent off. Take another 10% away if you get the Saks card. I go through the drill, picking it up, throwing it over my shoulder, walking to the mirror, looking at the price tag. This time I don't put it down. The minute it goes back on the shelf another pair of greedy hands will pick it up. I hold it close. I do mental math. It is doable. I call my husband. He says to do what I need to do. It sounds like when I pestered my mother for permission to go out, and she snapped "do whatever you want". I decide to ignore the tone and go merely with the words. Credit card in hand I am informed that since I don't have a  social security number I cannot apply for the Saks card. Too late. I was never good at math anyway. And by the way, I rock it better than Rihanna.

I love you Matt.
B