I experienced an act of Japanese aggression this weekend, and don’t think I’m not working on calling Brandy’s father and getting Congress to turn their attention from making war on the Radisson to sending the Marines into Japan to reclaim what was stolen from me.
After we woke up, we decided to walk through the town. Vienna is the most beautiful city on Earth. I have never before been so in love with a city and Cracola and I have been gushing about it to anyone who will listen. One of the best things in Vienna is the shopping, an H&M on every corner, Chanel, Hermes, Ferragamo and of course, Louis Vuitton.
I have been searching, with my mother, for the Manhattan bag, Louis Vuitton’s newest bag and its greatest masterpiece. The waiting list for the bag in the United States is 1 year and most of the lists at the boutiques are closed. It is basically impossible to get. I have, however, seen women in Europe just walking around with them and I have never seen a real live one in the US.
So when we saw the Louis Vuitton store in Vienna, I just had to go in and see if maybe, just maybe they had the Manhattan bag. Now, while Cracola and I had slept off some of our stupidity, we still looked and smelled like crap. I mean no worse than usual but still pretty rough for the Louis Vuitton store. Also, from a very young age, my mother had told me that when you look like crap you can always walk into a good store as long as you have a nice purse. Your purse is your passport, she would tell me. But I, of course, had left my own Louis Vuitton purse at home and was sporting my $2 black wallet from WalMart with a big looking goofy monkey on it.
We went into Louis Vuitton and surprisingly someone waited on us. At home, this would not happen. The shopgirls at Louis Vuitton are the most conceited and mean people ever, to the point where you just want to yell, LOSE THE ATTITUDE, YOU JUST WORK IN A SHOP!!!!!!!
I asked LV Man is he had the Manhattan bag. His answer was a blank look on his face.
“Yes, Manhattan. The one in the advertisement with Uma Thurman.”
Again, blank stare. I guess they don’t have Uma Thurman in Austria. So he went to go check upstairs. He returned with a bag that was not the Manhattan and then another that was not the Manhattan. I just shook my head because none of those were right.
“Oh well, thanks anyways.”
As we turned to go, out of the corner of my eye, almost glowing on one of the shelves near the bottom, was the Manhattan bag.
“THAT IS IT!”
I ran to the counter and made the LV Man hand me the beautiful monogrammed canvas. The leather handles were cool in my hands as I paraded around the store.
“What do you call this?” I asked LV Man.
“Oh, we call that one, Manhattan.”
Ok, seriously. I had been saying Manhattan the whole time. I don’t stutter, I don’t have a lisp. He knew it was called Manhattan, I was asking for Manhattan, why didn’t he just give it to me?
Whatever, I couldn’t be bothered with that as I was now running around the store, whooping like an Indian and looking at my hot self in the mirror with my awesome bag. Nothing completes an outfit made of a Penn State t-shirt and jean shorts like a $1200 bag.
But $1200 is a lot of money and I didn’t want to rush into the purchase (oh but I really did, I really, really did), so I told LV Man that we would be back after we had some coffee (Well Crac wanted coffee, I can’t stomach it anymore) and discussed it. He put the bag back on the shelf.
The discussion went like this:
“That bag is so hot.”
“I heard Paris Hilton couldn’t even get one.”
“That is the most gorgeous bag I have ever seen.”
“We should soooo get it.”
“That bag is so hot.”
Just before we could pay for our coffee, I spotted something strange coming down the street in the direction of Louis Vuitton. From the distance, it looked like a huge sea of Asians coming down the street. As they got closer, I could see that it was, in fact, a huge sea of Asians led by the Imperial Princess of Japan. Her Highness was walking under an umbrella held by the Official Umbrella Holder of the Japanese Royal Family. The rest of the entourage, male and female, were dressed in drab black wool suits with badges and medals on them.
“Who is that?”Cracola asked.
“I’ll give you a clue. It isn’t the Iron Chef.”
The Imperial Princess and her entourage disappeared into the Louis Vuitton Store.
“I bet they’re going in there to buy my bag! WHERE IS THE CHECK?!?!?” I screamed. The horror, the horror of letting the Manhattan bag slip through my fingers was creeping up on me.
We paid the check and dashed back into the Louis Vuitton store which was now full of Asian. We tried to part the Asian sea but it was no use, I could see now that the Manhattan bag was no longer on the shelf. And as I turned around to tell Cracola the awful news, I saw the Imperial Princess herself now holding and fondling MY bag. MY BAG.
“Want me to kick her ass? We could grab the bag and run,” Cracola growled in my ear.
I was tempted for a minute to allow the bigness and meanness of Cracola take over, but in the end, we left the Louis Vuitton store, dejected, bagless but still unwilling to beat up the Imperial Princess of Japan for her purse. Not that I had any doubt that Cracola could take on and defeat 90 Asians.
But no worry, there is a silver lining. I will be making a call to Congressman Brandy Daddy today to have him punish Japan with sanctions until the Manhattan bag is returned to its rightful owner.