Yesterday, I didn't know you.
Today, I can't escape you.
Tomorrow, I will sell bags of my blood to pay for you.
Granted, if I had everything I wanted I'd be dressed like someone whose house just caught on fire (again) and had to dash out to door with whatever she loved most slung around her neck, but I'd still happily shed half my closet for a Pamela Love talon cuff, Olympia Le-Tan milk satchel and the one that got away. Maybe it's time to do some cleaning, or sit on eBay for thirty minutes looking through old purses, deciding they're counterfeit and then move on.
God, if only someone made a satchel that looks like a rack of lamb, I'd be set for life. And bankrupt. And so happy.
OH SHIT, AN UPDATE: I somehow fell into a Google loophole through an hour of browsing and thought it was no longer on sale, but it's right here, in front of my eyes, and two clicks away from being in my broke as shit fingers. Fuck my wallet, fuck my face, fuck my life.
(photos 1, 2, 3)