Okay folks, I have a crush to confess. His name is m0851 hobo knot and I love him. I was at a friend's place for dinner and Lost, and this mutual friend of ours was there with him...hobo. At first I didn't see him, all slouchy and demure in the corner next to the sofa. It would be a fateful cell phone ring that would make my eyes cast down to the supple black form near my foot. As I wrapped my hand around the butter-soft leather strap to hand her the bag, my heart skipped and for a moment I felt what it would be like to own him. I watched as she easily withdrew the ringing phone from one of the cleverly concealed compartments, and wondered what treasures and essentials I would stow in him if he were mine.
The evening wore on, and though my attention was captured for the most part by the antics of Jack, Hurley, Kate, Benjamin, Sayed, and the rest of the Lost gang, I found myself periodically glancing at the hobo in the corner. Then, as we were leaving, I couldn't contain my affection and exclaimed to my friend with great taste, "I love your bag!"
"Really? Thanks. Me too," she gushed. "Honestly I don't even use another purse. It just holds everything!" And with that, I smiled at him one last time and we parted. By then he was slung familiarly over her shoulder, casually advertising his virtue as that "must-have" piece.
All through the next day, I thought about the hobo. I felt like a high school girl who sat on the bus for three extra stops so that she could watch the cute boy a little longer before he got off. It is possible to become infatuated with a bag the way one does with their first crush. I google-stalked my little hobo and upon discovering his price tag ($485 CAD) I was momentarily stunned, but undeterred. Of course my love wasn't cheap! Of course he would make me work for it. Isn't that the way of true love? It takes work! I did a quick calculation, 4.75 months until my birthday. No holidays in between. Last night I actually dreamt of m0851 hobo knot bag. That's it. This is lust verging on obsession. I have to leave you dear readers now, so that I can ogle pictures while reliving my brief encounter. A l'amour.