Oh the embarrassment ...

Back in he days when I had a rich husband, if he had been particularly nasty I would take my revenge by buying very expensive things. Spite shopping I called it and it's why in my now impoverished state I still tote a £700 Mulberry handbag. I would upload a picture of it because it's that good, but the iPad won't let me. Indeed the iPad is also a nifty bit of spite shopping.

Anyway, today I was in the metropolis known as Devizes, mooching around the second hand shops as is my want these days, when a bright young thing serving in one of them admired my handbag and pointed out a similar one but in tan. Mine being black. Thinking I might pick up a bargain I inspected it closely. It had been stuffed with all manner of interesting stuff to show its perfect lines. And I was impressed with this idea, much more satisfying than screwed up brown paper. I was flicking through a diary that had been in the bag, after returning to it a rather nice tortoiseshell hair clip, a silk scarf and a exquisite little mirror, and wondered whether the bag came with the contents,
"How much is it?" I asked "and does it come with the contents?"
"eh no," she replied, "it's my bag. I was just pointing out the similarities with yours."
I returned her diary to the bag and zipped it up smartly. I backed out of the shop in a confusion of heartfelt and profuse apologies.

Oh god, I still haven't got over it.

And there was a very nice mirror in there (shop, not bag. Although there was one in the bag as I think I may already have mentioned) but I am far, far, far too embarrassed to ever go back there.

In fact I may never go out again.