Call me a lazy schlepper, but all I ask from a handbag is that it carry everything I own, with nary a hitch or switch. The alternative — constantly dumping my infinite number of essentials and repacking them in various totes — is too horrific to contemplate.
I once had a dirty little secret. No, it wasn’t an online flirtation, a crush on actor Mark Rylance (that’s common knowledge) or a tendency for midnight fridge raids. It was a brief problem with BPSD, aka Binge-and-Purge Shopping Disorder, and it’s why online retailers such as Amazon, Target, Sephora and Beauty.com are such a success.
I live in suburbia — home to barbecues and book clubs, malls and multiplexes, country clubs, cul-de-sacs and Costcos the size of Connecticut. The occupants of those precincts will be out in force this Saturday, as SUVs all over town disgorge 50-plus types eager to communally celebrate our national birthday. (Cause to feel festive: We’re only 239 years old!)
Peel off my skinny jeans and you’ll find some colorful secrets: blue ropy veins, red spider capillaries and brown spots. (As for those wobbly inner thighs that even my killer spin classes can’t seem to firm up, let’s not go there.)
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