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When I first laid my eyes on Vera Bradley bags I had but one thought go through my head . . . "Wow, those would be great for my Grandma." Needless to say, I disliked everything about them. The old-fashioned patterning, fossil like material, and overall senior citizen feeling of all the bags made me vow that I would never be caught dead toting these accessories clearly designed as an attempt to make the elderly (over 90) feel hip.
So imagine my surprise when I recently, and on two separate occasions, purchased these . . .
. . . they don't even match.
I don't know how it happened or when it even started but, "Hello. My name is Janine Mercandetti and I am suddenly obsessed with Vera Bradley." What was once venerable and matronly now feels fresh and delightful?! I deeply crave those crazy cookie cutter patterns. I find myself walking around Possibilities and Parkleigh ogling at the latest design. What is going on? I want these she-devil bags the way I once wanted, and always will want, a Coach bag. I don't understand it.
Perhaps there is nothing to comprehend. I am female. I love shopping. I love bags. Maybe much like cheesecake grew on me as I kept trying it over the years, so was my fate for these bags? Perhaps the mere fact that it IS a bag means that it was only a matter of time before I succumbed to its temptress ways. I am only human after all, and what's a girl to do when a purse calls out her name? You buy it.
Oh Vera, it's so nice to have finally seen the light. Although my wallet is sad about this new revelation, my soul feels just fine. Now keep me away from that other Vera . . .