Fatally Unorganized. Top Story - January 2024.
I remember the day my owner, Rachel, got the bag that I’m stuck lying in. It was a Monday afternoon at the town center mall. The luxury purse store was having a deal on last season’s leftovers. There was one on display that she couldn’t leave without, and it was thirty percent off the original price of one-hundred and sixty pounds. The woman only had two-hundred bangers to her name, but it still sounded like a great idea for a wannabe like her that was debatably insane. She was always craving nice things, but her bank account was longing for a more budget friendly lifestyle.
