Poor, poor Speedy. He is not doing so well. My mom gasped when she saw him last weekend... I think we may be at the point of no return. I'm talking holes.
For those of you who haven't been around for long or don't know, Speedy is my mom's Louis Vuitton bag from the 1970s. She gave him to me in the early 2000s. And boy oh boy, between the two of us we have loved the hell out of that bag. So much so that she begged to buy me a new one for my 26th birthday (for fear that I would continue to carry the old one and really ruin it once and for all) but I absolutely refused. We compromised and she got me a Palermo instead. I wear Speedy a lot less but like to take him out for a spin every now and then. He probably belongs in a museum but hot damn, I just adore that bag so doggone much. I don't think he's fixable but I love having in my possession one of the first things my parents ever bought together.
I believe Jo from the Real Housewives of Orange County said it best. When boarding a hot air balloon ride, she asked if she could take her Speedy along. "It's like my pet," she explained. (Sidenote: all of my favorite housewives... her, Bethenny... are not in fact house WIVES. Andy Cohen: Call me!)
The Shoebox is too small for a puppy, but it's just right for a Speedy. My pet. I will continue to gently wear him for as long as humanly possible.
As you can see, Speedy has accompanied me on so many trips and outings. Special moments and everyday life. He has been a loyal friend, a trusty keeper of my most important possessions. And now, in the midst of his demise, I feel like this: