Whoa
Talk about being in the right place at the right time. This morning I was power walking down to fifth and pike to get some chocolate croissants at my new favorite cafe. I walked by the Louis Vuitton boutique and they were receiving an enormous stock shipment. Only, the fedex guy is a total moron and left his truck open, with a few boxes unloaded and just sitting on the sidewalk while he disappeared inside to talk to the manager. There they were . . . maybe fifty boxes of brand-new Louis Vuitton treasures--untold handbag wealth, waiting to be plucked up by some passerby . . . like me.
It's almost too bad that I'm not the stealing kind. I could blame girl scouts or my own parents for instilling within me that nagging voice that keeps me from pocketing fistfuls of bulk candy from the bins at the grocery store, testers from the makeup counters at Nordstrom, and dozens of unsupervized designer accessories.
All I can surmise from this morning's outing is that I still do not have a Louis Vuitton bag, and all I have to blame for that is my goddamn conscience.
It's almost too bad that I'm not the stealing kind. I could blame girl scouts or my own parents for instilling within me that nagging voice that keeps me from pocketing fistfuls of bulk candy from the bins at the grocery store, testers from the makeup counters at Nordstrom, and dozens of unsupervized designer accessories.
All I can surmise from this morning's outing is that I still do not have a Louis Vuitton bag, and all I have to blame for that is my goddamn conscience.