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There’s one purchase that literally makes my hands itch and my wallet scream, 'Come on already, stop torturing both of us!' It’s a bag. But not just any bag—a small, daring, bright red one, like the lipstick I would never dare to wear. With a gold chain that jingles as if to say, 'Hey world, here I come!' I saw it by chance in a shop window and froze, like a cat in front of a laser pointer. Since then, every evening I go to the store’s website, add it to the cart, type in 'checkout,' then delete it and go suffer in the kitchen over a cup of tea from a bag labeled 'calm.'