It's incredibly rare for there to be a retail store with which I'm unfamiliar. It's pretty much like seeing a unicorn.
But there's a mystery store lurking in Westfield and last night, Zoe and I finally breached it's gates.
I'd actually been 2 steps inside of Ruehl with Melissa, who instantly demanded that we leave. The place is dark and smells like musky men. Okay, I know what you're thinking. I like both dark places and musky men. Who doesn't? Even Zoe remarked, "Oh! It smells like cute boys in here!"
But divided into lots of little dark rooms with hidden passageways and no one working there, Ruehl is kinda scary and intimidating even to seasoned shoppers such as ourselves. A cross between Abercombie & Fitch and the Skull & Bones Society clubhouse, this retail space is heavy on the ripped denim and low v-neck if you can find it, only 3 or 4 of each are thrown amidst the velvet couches and mahogany racks.
I wouldn't even venture for another spin around the store, too afraid that Whitney or Brianna might take one look at my Gap khakis and level me with her overly made-up eyes, except that...
The bags, people. The bags.
I'd been looking for a bag like this for ages! 2 birthdays ago, Zoe had prepped the guy I was sick of dating into exactly the bag I wanted, and finally, we agreed that I couldn't accept a fancy handbag that again, was fucking fabulous when I wasn't that wild about the gift giver. I broke up with him before he could buy the bag and have regretted it ever since.
Not the guy. The bag.
Zoe reminded me of this last night as I twirled in the mirror, imagining how said bag would go with various outfits.
"Yeah." I rolled my eyes. "And look how that karma worked out. He's probably married and throwing his wife designer treasures left and right and I'm buying myself headbands at J. Crew with you."
"He was too pushy when we played Scattegories." Zoe offered. "And he gave you the creeps."
"SO!?!? Look at these bags! My god, the bags!"
I was ready to sleep with Dennis Rader last night if it meant getting that bag. And that's a really bad sign. I've waited this long, I might as well wait a little longer. After all, that bag might go on sale, I can buy it for myself and I won't have to become a dead whore in a dupster for an accessory.
The worst part is I'll have to tiptoe into Ruehl again and find some way of justifying my old, poor existence to an Associates Degree in Uggs while dumping a Mason jar of change on the counter...
You can read Zoe's version of last night's events HERE.