Saturday, August 13, 2011

My Pilgrimage to Prada

pil·grim·age[pil-gruh-mij] Show IPA noun, verb, -aged, -ag·ing.

1.a journey, especially a long one, made to some sacred place as an act of religious devotion: a pilgrimage to Lourdes.
2.Islam .
a.the Pilgrimage, hajj.
3.any long journey, especially one undertaken as a quest or for a votive purpose, as to pay homage: a pilgrimage to the grave of Shakespeare.
That last one is ME.
Those who know me understand I have an obsession with handbags.  I've always really liked them.  Even though my husband has never quite grasped it, he's finally figured out that after 23 years...I'm NOT going to change. 

Boy, do I love a pretty purse.  I cut my teeth, so to speak (I would NEVER actually harm my handbag ) on Vera Bradley then Coach, but escalated.  I bet my husband has regretted buying me that first Vera for Christmas so long ago.

About 8 or 9 years ago I walked into a PRADA in Vegas and it was probably like what happens to a crack addict the first time...I was hooked.  Since then, it's been about "ALL PRADA all the time".

The leather is the most magically scrumptious and buttery feeling of any bag I've had (and that's quite a few).

Oh, I might take out one of my seasonal quickies for a month or so....but it's only to give my PRADA bags a little respite.

No surprise that when I made the plans for my dream trip to Europe, Italy made the list.  Any country that can design a handbag like that deserves a visit.

The Roman Coliseum?  Oh sure, of course that too, while I'm there anyway...and why not the David in Florence, I mean I should get in some culture, right?
But the first MUST DO I wrote on my list was a visit to PRADA!  No Sir, not even a hesitation: I was absolutely coming home with a new bag to add to my teeny but growing collection.  My own Personal Quest.

I did my research the minute we arrived in Rome.  The handy dandy Frommer's travel guide book Jerrica got me for Mother's Day even listed the street the it was on.  Right by the famous Spanish Steps. 

Cool.  Now all I had to do was convince my sister in law, Mary, that she absolutely wanted to visit the Spanish Steps. 

Couldn't look too obvious.

So the day after we had walked what felt like million miles through a guided tour in the insane heat, I gently nudged her to walk, AGAIN.  On our tired legs to make another 4 mile journey, but at a nice soft, leisurely pace.

She might become suspicious if I lassoed her legs and dragged her across the crazy intersections.  

The crowd was huge at the Spanish Steps, but I aggressively pushed our way down and made a beeline for the store front.

Oh WOW, I could swear the heavens parted when I pushed open the door.

It might have been the rush of frigid air conditioned coolness after being in the intense heat for hours. 

Ahh, the smell of leather and of very expensive perfume.  The clerks all looked like runway models.  It must be a policy or something. 

I, in my sweaty shirt, runny makeup and tired feet in Jesus sandals didn't have eyes for anything but the bags. 

Mary thought she saw a movie star.  I thought I found a new hobo style.  Yes, it was glorious!!!  =)

I narrowed it down to two a boxier one and a ruffled one.  They had to be tried on to ensure it didn't become too heavy with all my crap in it.  I contemplated.  Sweet Mary never once complained.  "Bless her heart".

After holding them both, it had to be the gussier ruffled looking one. The tag?  It read Gaufre, meaning "waffle" absolutely perfect!!! 

Can one have a religious experience in 45 minutes?

Uh, just one thing.  A tiny thing really, no biggie.  It's just that my little "Personal Quest" forced me to cash out all my Holiday Club money to pay for my delicious bag.

Are 99 cent reindeer socks still an acceptable gift for Christmas?  =/

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