"The Perfect Purse." The sign over the shop door beckoned like a cruise liner buffet.
As I stepped into the Pier 39 store during a recent San Francisco vacation, a beautiful feast for the eyes filled me with renewed energy. Worn down by an extensive sightseeing walk, I was now unstoppable.
“Oh!” I cried breathlessly as my husband, Bill, joined me at one of the displays. “Look at this one” my words hanging in mid-air as I dashed to grab another handbag from a nearby shelf.
"I'll meet you outside,” Bill sighed as he pondered how anyone could get so excited about a purse.
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Seriously? It was like a feeding frenzy at the dessert table.
From one side of the store to the other, around every corner, to the top of the ceiling to the floor, there were purses hanging, sitting and placed in gorgeous array. I couldn’t get my fill.
Out on the boardwalk, patience waited on a bench, wearing thinner by the minute.
Reluctantly, I excused myself from the delectable offerings, mumbling something to the shopkeeper about my hope to return.
Two days passed. The end of our trip was in sight.
"I really want to go back to The Perfect Purse," I mentioned one morning over breakfast. "Of course, we could go to the Aquarium at Fisherman’s Wharf, too,” I added quickly, hoping to sweeten the deal.
Bill sighed in resignation and off we went to catch the trolley.
“It should take only a few minutes,” I called over my shoulder as I entered the quaint shop. “I’m pretty sure I know which purse I want.”
Or did I? A new shipment had just come in.
I clutched one in my hands, but it was too hot. The neon pink flower seemed a bit much for the office. A beige handbag I picked up was very practical, but for my taste too cold. And then I spied one in black, a matching flower spreading its petals across the side.
Just like Goldilocks I shouted, “This one is just right!”
As I raced outside with my bargain-priced purchase, I couldn’t wait to show Bill my new handbag.
It was the perfect purse — at least for now.