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What We DON’T Need a Husband For
The last thing I wanted to do today was drive to Beverly Hills. But trust me, I had no choice. The dentist insisted I come in for a post, root canal checkup, and I could no longer put it off. His office is a block from Rodeo Drive, and as I made the left turn onto his street, I took a moment to dream about the luxury brands in my peripheral vision. But this post is not about shopping. Not exactly.
Waiting for the elevator, I stood near a bulky, middle-aged man carrying a purse for his wife, who was young, pretty, and from the look of things, able-bodied. (I knew it wasn’t his purse, because he already had one draped over his shoulder.) Maybe she wasn’t his wife. Maybe she wasn’t able-bodied, though if that was the case, why was she strutting in those four-inch stiletto heels? And here’s the kicker. The bag was gorgeous, big, black, and Chanel. I stared at her in disbelief. Isn’t one of the benefits of owning a prestige purse like that, actually wearing it?!
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