Apparently I'm too poor to buy one.
Actually I blame Frank.
I spent the whole afternoon trying to recreate something I pictured in my head for the briefest of moments.
There appears a communication error between my brain and my hands.
The little purse looks nothing like I imagined it to, and looks awful with the new handbag.
Ahhh, the handbag. My worst (or best, depending how you look at it) impulse buy in a long time. The problem with Sevenoaks, Frank's temporary home, is that it has lots of little boutique shops. The second problem with Sevenoaks is it has traffic lights and pedestrian crossings. And the third is that the cute boutique shops are right next to the lights and crossings.
So naturally, whilst waiting for a group of yummy mummies to cross with their troop of pushchairs, a very pink clutch handbag caught my eye.
The honk of a car horn brought me round, and I left the bag in the window. Unfortunately for Frank, who I hadn't seen for three weeks, the handbag was the first thing I spoke about.
Naturally I dragged Frank back to the shop and used up the last of my birthday money and a donation from him to make the bag my own.
Of course it matches nothing I own. Oh well.
But my purse doesn't fit. My lovely tan "I'm-made-for-a-big-bag" sort of purse doesn't fit. So, I decided to make one.
What is more ridiculous is that I partly decided to do it because I didn't want to drive to town and pay to park. So... I spent the afternoon sewing and stitching the monstrosity that has now been destined to a life in the bin. I don't even want to associate myself with it.
So Frank has a share in a pink clutch bag, I have a home-made purse I hate (and a very clean car) and because Mumma Dodd is sofa bound (the bucking bronco incident) I have renewed and refreshed (not that I really needed to) by love for Miss Carrie Bradshaw.
Oh what a sunday.