Red Room Where the Writers Are

It was bound to happen. My keys somehow got in the lining of my new 
purse so I had to cut a small hole in the lining to fish them out. I 
sighed as I did it, but I had no choice.
I always wonder about people who have that purse lust. The lust for 
the perfect purse. I've had plenty of purses in my life-purses, book 
bags, backpacks, etc. I just finished a book called Bringing Home the 
Birkin. The author Michael Tonello finds himself without a job in 
Spain, so he starts to sell stuff on Ebay. He then starts to sell 
Birkin bags. Birkin bags are named for a actress named Jane Birkin and 
they are so elusive to get that songwriter Carol Bayer Sager has to 
contact Tonello to get one. And she has won an Oscar! Soon Tonello 
finds out how popular the bag is and how people just NEED to have the 
bag so much.
I heard of a Birkin bag on Gilmore Girls, when Logan gave Rory one for 
an early birthday gift. Her grandmother of course was flabbergasted. 
He gave her a Birkin! This was serious! For fun I looked at Birkins on 
Ebay. They were-I'm not making this up-going for five thousand 
dollars. One for fourteen thousand dollars. Um, yeah. I've been lucky 
some years to get that kind of money, much less spend it on a purse. 
Dear God, I know I sound like a grandaughter of two people who 
survived the great deperession. I can't help it.
Maybe it's because I see my purse as something to carry things around 
in. That's my problem. And ocassionally food, though I try not to do 
that because the last time I did it went bad and my purse still smells 
like a small animal died in it. God knows what it would smell like if 
it was a Birkin. Or are Birkins smell proof?
Plus if I had money to buy a Birkin, would it hold these items:
1. a writing notebook
2. two or three books (In my bag right now are books by Erma Bombeck 
and Michelle Tea. I have no idea how they are getting along, but I 
hope well)
3. A datebook that I forget to update.
Plus I want to get my money's worth out of the Birkin. So Birky, you 
have to do the following things to prove my love:
1. you have to clean the litter box.
2. you have to finish my draft of my novel.
3. explain certain passages of William Faulkner.
4. make sure that I get massages every night.
5. kiss me on New Year's Eve.
What? You can't do all that? Sheesh.
I guess we aren't meant to be, Birky. Adieu, my love.