My life as a handbag hasbeen

Preface: This story will confirm the reasoning's behind my mothers night terrors.
PS. Mom, don't read this.. its for your own good.

I am an optimist by nature. I am naive and easily distracted. In my senior year of high school I'd joined a fashion class. Nearing the end of the semester, we the fashion students went on a field trip to L.A. Our trips itinerary consisted of visits to L.A's finest fashion institutes and museums, shopping, fashion shows, shopping, Disney, shopping, Rodeo Dr. and Hollywood, shopping and more shopping. (Side note: this is where I solemnly swear I started the stretchy sparkle belt trend). None of my fashion friends were going on this trip so I was flying solo. On the plane to L.A I had made three friends. None of whose names I can remember. Nevertheless we instantaneously became shopping buddies. The three had been friends previously, so tagging along was the name of my game. I was often left behind when something sparkly caught my eye. Realizing that I didn't share in their group commitment, the girls kept a weather eye out for my disappearances. I was entering a very chic Chanel phase where I was befuddled by anything with a "C" on it. Earlier that day I'd found a pair of very classy, very fake, yet very Chanel, spring collection sunglasses, a pair of earrings and a wallet. As we were walking through an alleyway, bound for the next shop, I was dreaming of the perfect Chanel outfit. I was interrupted by an intuitive Latino gentleman. "Would you like to buy a purse?" the gentleman asked. Well of course I would like to buy a purse I thought to myself. "umm.. what kind of purse?" I said shyly. "Whatever you want" he said, "Dooney and Bourke, Prada, Chanel" "Chanel!?!" I squealed. How did he KNOW I'd been looking for one all day. "Coom these way" the Latino man gestured. I followed, pondering where our travels would lead us. "Into my van" the Latino man said, pulling my arm ever so sternly. Hesitating a moment, I wondered why these 'superpurses' would be locked away in this big, no-windowed, rusty white van. As we were approaching the open van I heard my new friend yelling at me. She ran to my side and said "lets go!". The Latino man was disturbed by her presence and pulled yet again at my arm. She did the same, pointing at our now large group of friends at the end of the alley and hurried me away. The poor, lacking in busy savvy Latino man quickly turned away. I asked my new friend why we were in such a hurry. As we walked, she explained that I had been rapidly approaching a very hostile situation in which I would no longer be present at the next days fashion show. Completely unaware of said hostile happenings, I looked back to find that the Latino gentleman's van was empty. He was definitely not selling purses.