A Vain Passion?

I nurse a passion & thus far in my long & uneventful life, I've not met anyone who shares my love. It's a cousin of my handbag lust.

I hope my handbags cut a dash, but they serve other useful purposes too. If I hold one close in anti-mugger manner, it helps to disguise the disgraceful state of my abdomen. If I'm nervous or panic stricken, I clutch one like a security blanket. They combat boredom too - I reorganise & tidy the contents when I'm early for appointments - I have no shame! Interesting things migrate into my handbag - I don't know why or where they come from - I obviously have a subconscious handbag filler habit.

The handbag's cousin is the vanity case & I'm guessing that my collection has grown well into double figures. Some live with our luggage, but I have others around the house & in the Shack. Only two are truly full of vain things - one lives in the Shack & the second is my bedside companion along with another which houses my journal, diary, note books & other blah, blah things. I have a really useful one which is part of my jewellery kit - it stores all the 'bits' that aren't tool-kitty. I use another to keep my costing notebooks & jewellery 'recipe' files in. I haven't lodged any of the information from these on to my computer - I like using a pen & I love scribbling so please don't take my notebooks away. If my computer died & took my life files with it, so be it - I could take it. I've got things written down on paper - I could start again.

I also keep a hospital stand-by one. I'm accident-prone & I have three children who also fall over. Having to spend the occasional night in hospital is a possibility - indeed the stand-by has proved useful on a number of occasions. If I was stranded in hospital & had to rely on James bringing me in some things to keep me going overnight, he'd probably bring in big black knickers ( panties?), the flimsiest white nightdress available & thick socks. This is the man who after 37 hours of my being in labour with Tom, turned to me & said,'Obviously men have a higher pain threshold than women.' He is clueless & cannot be trusted. Before I started to make my own, he bought me 'old lady' jewellery. I snapped after floral brooch number four. I recall my broaching (ha ha?) the 'Do you ever actually look at me?' question during my tantrum.

Thanks to my vanity case habit, all I have to do now is draw him a diagram of where the stand-by is located & back he trots, secure in the knowledge that his wife is not going to chastise him for bringing in washing up liquid instead of the shampoo that had miraculously hidden itself in the bathroom cabinet.

So there we are. You have just read the confessions of a handbag & vanity case addict who has tantrums about rhinestone brooches. Can you ever forgive me?