I am never satisfied with my backpacks. Ever. For one reason or another they just do not measure up to my expectations of a "good" backpack. Since last semester, I have been searching for the perfect backpack. I have very specific criteria for this backpack. I've looked everywhere and I've looked often. Just the other day I was in the Container Store. It's on my way to work and I like to stop in every now and then just to look, because I love the Container Store, but I digress. I'm looking through the travel section, I don't travel that much but there I am, and I see it hanging on a hook, at the very top of the end cap -- my backpack. It's not much to look at it -- just black -- but, oh my. It's wonderful. I put it on my back to make sure it felt right (I'm a big "feel" person) and walked up and down the travel aisle, thinking about this backpack from every angle: how it fit on my shoulders, how it felt on my shoulders, was it too wide (I hate it when my elbows are trapped by the body of the backpack), did it have the right pockets (one for writing instruments, one for Mac, and another for keys, wallet and iPhone) and was it bulky. . . I put it back on the hook, meanwhile falling in love with it. I literally thought about this backpack everyday -- at least a little -- for the past 5 days. I even read reviews online. . .So today, on my way home from work, I bought it. I'm excited about this backpack. I keep thinking of someplace to go tonight that would warrant me carrying a backpack. . .I'm coming up short, because the only place I can think of is the library and I have no desire to go there today.
It's probably really silly to be enamored with a backpack, but, that's me. I'm equally enamored with my purse (which is saying ALOT. I'm not a purse girl). I've contemplated briefly the notion of using my wonderful new backpack as my purse -- at least for a few days -- but love my purse too much. It's a conundrum.
On another note, my birthday is in a week and a half.
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