The other week, I bought a bag. A shoulder bag. You know, one of those things that normal people call a purse.¹

The following week, I bought another one.

Now I have two "bags." One is grey, and the other is brown. I can swap them out when I wear different-colored clothes. They have pockets, and zippers. This is huge for me, because up until now I have solely used backpacks and tote bags to carry my necessary items around.² I feel like at last I can successfully pass as being cognizant of and knowledgeable in popular fashion. I feel like I felt in my mid-20s when I finally decided to toss those too-short and too-tight Forever Twelve shirts: I have crossed a new threshold. I have taken a considerable step towards growing up.³

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Last night we went to a wedding, and the beau proceeded to get kinda... toasty. I brought him home and put him to bed, and while I was finishing up in the bathroom we had the following exchange:

Me: "I feel guilty for eating that pizza at midnight."
Beau: "You shouldn't feel guilty. You already had some cheese."
Me: "What?"
Beau: "I was just preaching. Because nobody bought anything at the parade."
Me: "Oh yeah?"
Beau: "Yeah. I was just preaching. Nobody bought anything at the parade."
Me: "Okay, then."

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