Dreams Do Come True

I'm an incredibly lucky girl.

I have two beautiful children, an amazing husband, and friends and family around me that I'm constantly reminded how amazing they are.

And a girl has dreams.

And they come true.

From my "dealer's" (Malena of the wonderful eponymous boutique) description:

The bag is authentic, had one owner, no dust cover or lock. It is chocolate brown calf skin. I lightened the photos so every tiny scratch is visible. Most you cannot see in real life.

The leather housing of the keys is called the pouchette. The Hermes store in KOP told me to replace the lock and keys is under $150, but problably below $100. It will take a few weeks since it comes from (duh) Paris.

The good news- No broken stitching, no stains, no chipped metal, no missing feet, strap in great condition. Interior is flawless as well. No gold initials of the original owner.

The bad news- No lock, and 2 of the corners need a touch up with brown polish. It is not visible when the bag is sitting on the table. Damage no larger than 1/4 inch. The worst of it is photographed, including the
scratch on the bottom.

For the age and quality of this bag it really is in impressive condition.

I know I shouldn't. I know it's a luxury. And I also know that it's an amazing, wonderful, beautiful thing.

Grace's biography was the first one I remember reading - in elementary school. I can still see Mrs. Wilson and the shelves and then can remember reading that wonderful book. I wanted to be her. Her wedding dress was the first picture I had in my head after H proposed.

I could be spending this money on other, more useful things - like clothes I'm comfortable in or a trip with H. But instead, I'm trying to figure out the best way to get this piece from West Chester, Pennsylvania, to Washington, D.C. without shipping it, exposing it to cold, or putting it in harm's way.

And it will be The Bean's. And she will have a piece of wearable art, Nigel.

*Photo cropped from one I found on Letters to Betsy (great blog and name, btw - another childhood memory)

Dreamland

Pregnancy does strange and wonderful things to your dreams. My old therapist told me once that a colleague of hers claimed she would pay extra for the therapy available during pregnancy - because your subconcious brings such delicious things to the surface that stay hidden at other times. I can absolutely attest to that.

Though I can't say that last night's episode of DC Celine's Dreams brings anything interesting to light, but it certainly was an amusing combination of my obsession with reality shows (style ones, in particular), tweeting, and probably some things H really doesn't want to hear about.

While I can't remember the "storyline," here's what I do remember, 6 hours afterwards...
A runway show for an up-and-coming Asian-faced designer. The line was somewhat reminiscent of Patrick McDonald and Roberto's line from "Launch My Line" (yes, I watch that crap - the self-destruct mechanisms on it are effin' brilliant): trashy red and black lingerie-"inspired" pieces with much see-throughness going on.

I was trying to tweet the show, but all I remember is that somehow I got "stuck" tweeting, and started texting the message on my (gasp! I'm horribly '00 about my personal technology) cell, but never managed to send a single tweet. Something about the gorgeous man sitting next to me and with whom I think I was canoodling. (Honestly, H won't care in the least about that. I'm a lucky girl.) He was tall, lithe, and muscular, with a very closely cropped (not quite shaved) head of hair - a fashioned-up version of a Marine, perhaps (there go those CIA/renegade patriot novels I keep reading. Or maybe a long-harbored memory about the 16-year-old Georg with whom I swam - raced, mind you - on my exchange year in Austria). The designer was, like I said, an Asian-faced woman (can't remember enough to even remotely attempt a guess at actual nationality), thin, raggedy bob-like 'do...hmmm...not unlike Erwin's new coif (which, btw, suits him much better, IMHO, than his previous long, shaggy cut). I think she was rather mean, but that could be something my psyche attached after I woke up.

After the "oh no, must tweet! It's my fashion responsibility as a blogger!" crisis, I don't remember much else. I think there was more to the dream, maybe a hostel with other young (hee hee, as if I still qualify for that adjective) people.

Anywho...speculate away at the state of my psyche. It's one week before the absolute definitive day of arrival for Bean #2 (long story short, it could decide to arrive on it's own before then, but...). Who knows where my brain, concious or otherwise, will be in a week. I promise a quick update post-arrival.

Drool

If only I had a spare 1000 smackeroos...