Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1230876-The-wicked-distraction
by Misha
Rated: E · Editorial · Fashion · #1230876
My new handbag demands attention, even during prayer sessions.
Do you ever catch yourself thinking inappropriate thoughts, due to your rebellious mind wanting to override your willingness to be decent? Do you try to keep your mind on the right track, only to be lured by the shallow wickedness of worldly possessions and desires?

Yeah? Me too.

I sat in church this morning, in a large hall full of Sunday morning worshippers.  There were old ladies, aging men, young children and excitable singers up on stage.
I sat snugly between my Mum and my sister, enjoying the novelty of it all.

The minister delivered a casual sort of sermon about how we can be friendly, share hugs, be a part of the community, all that sort of stuff that I completely agree with.  He even highlighted that you should be somewhat careful with your hugging, as not everyone’s touchy-feely. Some have been hurt, abused, or just are not used to hugging.  Some huggers are over-anxious with their cuddles, scaring more than just the odd child or two.  All the same, he encouraged us to hug the people behind us and in front of us.  Comfort zones be damned.

At that point, a farmer who was part of the congregation rushed up on stage to give the minister a large bear hug.  It made me laugh; I liked his energy. I sat bleary-eyed, thinking I’d collapse before I ran so joyously onto the stage.  I wasn’t about to make a scene, but this farmer was a hugging machine, powered by the warmth of cuddling and human affection.  Apparently it was a good old-fashioned farmers’ hug.  I’d pay that, even though I don’t have much experience in being man-handled by farmers.

At this thought, I cast my eyes downwards to drink in the one that I wanted to hug most right now.  A smile came to my face of its’ own accord as I displayed true, unadulterated affection towards my new cherry red, ruched bag that I picked up for a steal in Sydney last weekend.

I breathed in the essence of my stylish new friend, and fingered the zip handle, a smart, round gold ring.  The bag could not push me away if it felt uncomfortable. This bag was going to be smothered in love whether it liked it or not.

The over-sized beauty could not be placed at my feet as other bags had – this one was to be nursed like a baby, petted like a fussy pedigree cat. Savoured and enjoyed, to the extent of feeling foolish, but not quite embarrassed.

As folk prayed for the sick, hurting people in their families, or the friends who were travelling through war-torn countries, existing to serve and help those less fortunate, I caressed my newly-acquired fashion accessory with the utmost of affection.  It was a guilty pleasure, staring at the object of my infatuation as others bowed their heads and closed their eyes in quiet contemplation.

I kissed the bag a few times today, especially after seeing extremely expensive versions of her being flogged in ‘Shop Til You Drop’ magazine.  Jessica Simpson has a brown one; Posh Spice has a brown one too.  Theirs are all… brown.  But not mine, mine’s cherry red, like the favourite lipstick I once had that was smeared and ruined by my best friend when she was too quick to put the lid back on. 
Cherry red, like the filling of that chocolate bar that hung precariously from its’ home in the vending machine but never quite dropped.  Cherry red is the colour of the exquisite new home I have for my keys, my purse and approximately 254 other objects I may or may not need during the course of your average Sunday.

Before the service ended, we all stood to sing a couple more upbeat, God-adoring songs.  Here was my chance to stand, holding the bag.  There are so many variations of pose, an endless array of opportunities with this affordable version of something that Lindsay Lohan is toting around right now.
“You hold my world in the palm of your hand
And I’m yours forever,”
I sang loudly and smilingly… to my bag, as my wrist slid daintily under the strong, shiny handles like a skilled surfer mastering the underbelly of a large, awe-inspiring wave.
“I'll walk with you
wherever you go
through tears and joy
I'll trust in you”

As the service ended we all dispersed.  Familiar faces came to me smiling, and one pair of arms enveloped me with a hug that I’d guess was definitely worthy of this place. 
“Well I can tell you were listening to the sermon!” I greeted my long-lost friend as she almost cut off my circulation.
“It’s been a long time!” she exclaimed, as I evilly looked over her shoulder and down at my beloved fashion statement, my eyes devouring it, the desire taking over.
“It has.  I’ve missed you.”
And with that, I walked zombie-like from my old school pal with the excuse that I had to run to the loo.

Selfish.  Wicked. Shallow.
But oh so delicious.
I pose in front of the mirror to see which stance lends itself best to my new baby.

I’m sure I’ll sing and praise and hug properly once the novelty of the new bag has worn off.  Until then I’ll enjoy the inappropriate surrender to the inanimate object of my dreams…


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