Here I am in Gucci

Here I am in Gucci

I’ve made too many jokes to my friends that if we went in we would be instantly followed. Ash turns to me and says, “Do you want go in?” I say no the best way I know how, “Are you coming in with me? Honey, are you coming?” Before I can rethink anything or dream up some horror story to stop me dead in my tracks we are already walking into the store. A female guard dressed in the black greets us. We don’t disperse at first just cling to each other. A bag that’s shiny and colorful takes my eye but so does my worn sweatshirt, my friend’s dark skin, and my other friend’s facial appearance. We practically fit the fashion world’s ‘NO-NO’ list. They know we don’t have this kind of money. It’s just the three of us and the three guards (or maybe one guard and two associates). The female guard strikes up a conversation with Ash and the awkwardness begins to lift. A couple of mildly self deprecating jokes are made. I look for Honey who is stuck staring at an ostrich handbag (or maybe it was a clutch). A devilish feeling takes hold and I suddenly don’t care for boundaries. The female guard says, as I lean closer to a bag, “You can touch them you know.” Situations like these call for quick thinking.
“I know,” I say as I think that she’s being either nice or setting me up. Neither friend picks up a bag.
“It’s ostrich. Very beautiful,” the guard continues.
“How long do the ostriches live before they get turned into bags?”
“I don’t know but I’m pretty sure they live good lives”
“Oh, those poor ostriches.”
My friends pick up on the weird vibe I’m creating. I don’t normally ask about dead animals. They slowly crowd the door and within seconds we are out.
“They were nice.”

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