It's good for the Soul...

I have a confession.

In this journey of self discovery we call life, there are times when you have to face certain truths about yourself.

Sometimes they are not pretty.

I am a handbag whore.

I'm not saying that I'll spend thousands on a Coach bag. No, no. That would make me a high class call girl kind of handbag whore.

I am like a crow with shiny objects. I am simple. I am called by a shape, or a design element, and if it's more than forty bucks, I'll touch it one more time and regretfully move on... I do not need one more bag, certainly not another one that is more than I spend on my son's shoes.

But oh, I have discovered a crack in my willpower armor.

My daughter has five purses. She is four years old. That's averaging more than a purse a year.

To be fair, one is a vinyl Hello Kitty that her daddy got for her when I sent him out to get her a lunch box (I could have kissed him, and it really is the right size for a preschooler's lunch!). One was given to her by her favorite auntie, for her birthday, with a matching hat. One came from the demon Target dollar bin.

Here's the shame...

One is a cute little brown and pink corduroy barrel bag from the gap. I loved it. Little O? meh.

Friday we went to the dollar store. After lecturing my sweet girl that she only got ONE dollar, and she would have to choose her treat carefully, I saw it.

Little O could have cared less.

I was forced to admit that there was no way we were leaving the store without that bag, and told my girl she could pick one more thing.

That's her Strawberry Shortcake doll sticking out of the top. She likes this one more than the last one, and is already using it. But she could have lived without it. It would have caused me physical pain to leave it behind.

Oh, the shame...