Chances are I have only vomited in 1.333333 of these bags
I saw Love, Loss, and What I Wore with my mom on Sunday. It was great—like The Vagina Monologues but for clothes.
Seeing the show made me want to sit down and write about clothes, ideally items that had meant something to me and seen me through hard times, or pieces that reminded me of great laughs, loves, or friendships.
Obviously I forgot that I am me and that I can barely make it through a single day without dripping some condiment or other on myself, let alone find the time to make very Special Memories based around my whimsical wardrobe. Here is what came out instead when I sat down to write:
As I was leaving the house the other day to meet friends for drinks, my husband said, by way of goodbye, "Try not to throw up in your purse!" I wish I could say that this was a metaphor, our colorful twinspeak way of saying "Break a leg!" But I can't. He's being completely literal.
I have vomited in two purses, which, in the grand scheme of things, doesn't seem like a lot. After all, I've owned probably 30 purses since the brown LeSportsac bag I bought in tenth grade, which means that I've only vomited into 1/15 of my purses, historically speaking—respectable odds! Also I feel I should point out that the purses were used as vessels in order to avoid sullying a hardworking cabbie's floor with the product of my poor judgment (which generally involved tequila). I would FURTHER like to point out that I had the good sense to first remove my wallet, phone, keys, and iPod, although it is entirely possible that a cardigan accidentally ended up taking one for the team.
Bottle of wine (shared): $16
Ill-advised tequila shots at a house party where you don't know anyone and everyone looks fifteen: $0
Purse: $50 (on sale at Filene's)
Not having to ask the cabbie to pull over on Chrystie Street so that you can puke in front of all the pretentious d-bags waiting outside The Box: