Pol** D*ts

For as long as I can remember, and anyone who knows me can attest, I cannot be around pol** d**s. I'm talking, physically sick reaction to them. No run of the mill, ah, no, don't care much for them, not so much for me, reaction.

I've never understood it, have no reason in my conscious memory to feel that way. But it is deep. And lifelong.

Well, lately, I've been kind of, gulp, liking the blue backround with brown p**ka **ts, or the pink with black d**s. I don't seem to have quite the response that I have known my whole life. EXCEPT, for the multicolored, oh this is hard, red, blue, yellow, gag, wonder bread packaging colored of p**** do*s. That is what I have narrowed it down to. Where it comes from I still don't know. I've spoken to my mother about it and she can't remember anything either.

So imagine my surprise, when after searching for a purse for a very long time, I fell in love with this:


I LOVE THIS! I KNOW! After a lifetime of irrational, psychotic, hatred of the measly, freaking p**k* *ot, I am loving my new purse! Ha ha ha ha ha!