My friend Maria took me out to lunch for my birthday last week. And she had a cheap purse. She was dressed magnificently, like she always is, but she had a cheap purse and she apologized for it. That made me feel badly because I'm the type of person who notices and she felt like she had to apologize. It's not like I judge her, but to me, holding a handbag that isn't like buttah leather...well, it's...it's a travesty and I feel pained. If the carpetbaggers could promise 40 Acres and a mule, I'd promise well-crafted Italian leather and shoes with great architecture for everyone.
I did not grow up rich. No one taught me about the finer things in life. It was ingrained in me and I cannot help it. My surroundings are like a pulse. I feel it. And it dawned on me, so does Scarlett. I'm Scarlett! And who wants to be Scarlett? She's a complete brat! But could she help it? Like when she's in the hospital with Dr. Mead, and she has to run out because she can't see any more death, she can't nurse any more sickness -- I totally get that! It's not a trait she's proud of. She can see that Melanie does it without complaining, so what's wrong with her?
My weeks are filled with waiting on people. I am a constant bus driver and fry cook. I have a choreographed day where I drop kids off with packed lunches, pick them up and feed them again, help them with homework, get them clean, pick up all the clothes they shed outside the shower, wash them, get them dinner and get them to bed -- and the next day, I do it all over again. And so does every other mother, but they don't whine about it. They seem to relish it and find joy in their accomplishments.
I'm thinking to myself, when can I escape to LA with my agent and do some brainstorming and retail therapy at the mother ship (South Coast Plaza)? Why can other people be happy with Lee Jeans instead of Booty Fit Joe's Jeans? I tried to find a cheap purse the other day. I walked around in Macy's for twenty minutes with one on my shoulder thinking, I can do this...I can do this...I'm not special. I read in Oprah that 50% of women won't spend over $50 on a handbag. Why can't I just be normal? I can do this...yeah, but I couldn't.
I left the mall with a luscious, buttery winter-white Dooney and Bourke bucket bag with this great nautical navy/white/red wallet. In my defense, it was my birthday and I'm just not one of the 50%. I wish there was a Bible verse that said work out your salvation with a fear of bad leather. Beth, Maria and I are so there!