del rey slampiece

A few disastrous days involving falling off wagons (I blame work, nothing else), but generally am feeling slightly more stable.

Stable ---> good
Tearful, haggled mess----> bad

You know when you stop wearing mascara because you know you're going to have a cry in the afternoon, that shit is dire. And needs to be fixed.

Anyway, for now, the weather forecast looks clear, with scattered thunder showers... if people win Olympic gold.
When people win a significant race, or that bloody Chariots of Fire music comes on when they're standing on the podium brimming, tears in their eyes, hand on their chest when their country national anthem goes on, that's me. Taps on, crying, weeping, gasping for air.

Anyway no more crying or talking about it. I think you get the idea.

During this episodal catastrophe, I did do a wee bit of shopping. It had to be done.
Consumerism isn't all bad. I'll show you why.

This is what it came wrapped in:

 That's right. Tissue paper from Selfridges.

And the big reveal:

That, faceless blog readers who I love, is a Mulberry slampiece. The "Del Rey," to be specific.

I say "slampiece," because I want to make love to the bag. Shopping might not fill a hole, but a Mulberry bag sure can.

That is the Del Rey aux rouge.
And it wouldn't be right not to show you her Instagrammed:

She's practically golden.

I am delighted. I look, and paw at and smell the buttery leather like a special person, but I can't help myself. I should've waited until after Japan, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Besides, at least I'm safe in the knowledge I researched this for ages and spent a fuckload of time deliberating on the pro's and cons of such a purchase. It wasn't an impulse buy.

Needless to say, my credit card looks like this:

I still think "investment," not "thing that holds other things," though.