Male Models!

Anyway.

Blogger, blogger, blogger. I logged on today to my account, and saw my blog completely erased. Just. Completely. Gone. Rather miffed, I am forced to create a new one. So, here I am. Right.

Oh yes, Coach purses. I am sure that, if you are a woman, you know exactly what I am talking about. Everybody wants one, because it seems that everybody has them. You walk through the streets and hanging from every woman's shoulder is a little purse scalded with giant capital letter 'C's. I go to school, and every girl is deftly making their way through the halls and being trailed by their exorbitantly expensive Coach purse. What is so attractive about these little things? I suppose everyone knows they're expensive, so then you assume that, consequently, everyone must assume that you, owning one, has money. So of course, as much as I hate myself for being gently lulled into the stream of upper middle class normality, I immediately desired one with my entire body and soul. Like an English bulldog, my jaws grasped the idea of a little Coach purse of my own and wouldn't let go. That, of course, led to the careful sucking up to The Father.

Ah yes, The Father. Operation : Coach Purse must be precisely timed and acted out so as to bring myself in his highest esteem. Strategically placed hugs and kisses, offers to take out the trash (willingly! willingly!) setting the table with a broad smile, or just simply smiling at, well, everything. My room was spotless, and I dusted and vacuumed the house. The key being, of course, spread out over a week so as not to seem suspicious. Finally, the moment arrived. Time to go to the mall. I grinned broadly. I played his favorite mix C.D. in the car. He was in a great mood. I gently steered him over to the Coach store, and deftly, deftly, pointed out the one I wanted. He glanced at the price tag (expensive, I might add, but still)and, without a moment's hesitation, uttered one word.

"No."

No. No, no, no. Noooooooooooooo. N-O.

I suppose its all for the best.