|Headbands, boxes, totes, sneakers, hankies, keychains...and purses.|
|Powder, hand lotion, baskets, baby towels, pillows...and purses.|
|Oven mitts, dish towels, hankies, sneakers, ribbons, mugs...and purses|
Florals with a capital F...pink roses, white roses, red roses, big roses, little roses, little daisies, and to top it all off - polka dots. I'm far from the classic ultra-feminine type of woman (I rather fancy I'm more of the platinum blonds type in the black cocktail dress that catches James Bond's eye) but I do have a fondness for what I consider old-fashioned wallpaper florals.
|Lots of prints to choose from.|
It wouldn't have been so bad if I had stopped with my splurge in the London shop, but after maintaining my self-control while passing the shop in York no less than a half-dozen times, I lost it in Harrogate. When no one was looking, I snuck off to the Cath Kidston there. It was this shop that started me off in 2009 and this time I left with bags full of bags.
|You guessed it...purses.|
When I went through customs, the inspector cocked an eye at me as he scanned down my list, "Stationary" (I'm a fool for greeting cards with brilliant art), "Souvenirs" (Just a few Liverpool Football Club keychains and one - just one - mug), "Mustard" (England has such wonderful mustards), "Jewelry" (Just a few cheap pairs of earrings and one gorgeous jet necklace we'll talk about later), "Purses....Purses?". I pointed to the flowered bag hanging so beautifully over my shoulder, smiled sheepishly, and said simply, "Cath Kidston". He nodded solemnly, stamped my papers, and waved me through.
I was a bit disappointed. I had planned to show him the matching wallet.