Prada Lust

My instagram feed consist of 90% designer bags from re-sellers. And this is why I always start my day lusting after purses I know I could never afford.

And the moment I get to the office, I would open my laptop and surf on how to find the cheapest designer bag in Europe. Well, just Prada actually. I see a lot of LV bags on my feed, but I could never bring myself to like any of them (but perhaps I can make an exception on the Neverfull, with my initials on it). Prada, on the other hand, has a certain pull. That black saffiano with the gold details - it looks like we're meant to be together. You see, I have this dream that I will be in Europe next year and I have in fact been saving for it (although at the rate my savings are going, it looks like I can afford Europe after 20 more years). And once I am in Europe, I would head straight to Florence, and take a train/taxi to Space, the Prada outlet. I have read so much on this that I know I can get there with my eyes closed. I even memorized the train schedules. I know the moment I get there that I should get a priority number from an odd-looking metal machine (because you won't be allowed to buy anything if you forget to get one). And yes, don't forget to get the number of the cab driver because it's difficult to get back to the train station.

I can even picture it in my mind, how my dream bag and I would meet. The doors of Space would open (with dramatic music in the background) and my dream bag would reveal itself to me. In my dreams, it looks like this:

Or this. I'm not too picky.

But I will not leave Italy without getting this wallet. I have been lusting for this since I saw one from my officemate. And then another officemate got one, and another officemate got one in pink. I was half-hoping one of them would get tired of it and sell it at an absolutely ridiculous price (i.e., the price I can afford). 

But I already resigned and changed jobs, and 5 months of unemployment in between did not of course improve my dismal financial situation. Oh but here I am, still dreaming of Europe, and that wallet. Never mind that my eleven year old car is screaming for retirement. I can always take a cab to work. And never mind that in my new work, I can no longer make rampa in court or where else, and show off my bag. I can just stare at it at night, in the privacy of my bedroom, and hug it to sleep. And this is probably why I could not bring myself to get married. Because I have not felt for any man the passion I have felt for a Prada bag. Chos!