Friday, February 12, 2010

Fashion Faux Paux

Several months ago, I bought (on sale of course) a shoulder bag / satchel / man purse at The GAP for around $30. My previous shoulder bag had waisted away where the straps hinge to the bag. This one was kind of nice; the shoulder straps had metal hinges that attached to metal brackets on the bag, so there would (hopefully) be no cloth deterioration on the straps.
I have to admit, this is a nice bag: Brass buckles, leather straps, smooth black fabric. It's fancier than what I need it for which is dumping assorted gum wrappers, holding purell bottles, stuffing my yellow and black scarf that resembles the House of Hufflepuff that was hand made by my mother, and whatever book I am reading at the time.
Today on my commute into work, I wedge myself down into a seat on the orange line, and dive balls deep into my Bon Appetite magazine. I was perusing a letter a woman had written concerning her love affair with Celery Root (no lie) when I happened to glance up and see a very pinched, curt, coiffed man standing before me.
This was the sort of man that you instantly identify as trendy, fashionable, and of course, a flaming homosexual.
His shoulder bag was at my eye level, and low and behold, he had the same exact one I had purchased and was now resting on my lap. When people hang out and we are wearing the same articles of clothing, I really don't give a damn. Who cares? We happened to buy the same thing (probably on sale) and happened to wear it at the same time. No big whoop.
Other people (typically people you see on Jersey Shore, douche bags, people over concerned with appearance and fashion, shallow people, and people I just generally don't like very much) get wicked freaked out by this and will often leave a party to go change, or distance themselves to opposite sides of the room so as to not look like you are together. Such as this primped little bitch standing before me.
He sees me eyeing his bag, looks down at my crouch (or course he would, how can you not? It is so impressive and all. Hell, I'm looking at my crotch as I type this) and sees my bag in my lap.
The little queen huffs, makes a sour, disgusted look at me and my bag, makes sure I see him look at my bag, and moves (MOVES!!) down the train to the other end.
I laugh out loud (I lol'ed. Literally) and continued reading about how a woman desires the knobby fibers of the celery root. I love people! It takes all kinds to fill a subway car. :).
Happy Commuting!

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