On Wednesday, I entered the House cafeteria in search of a quick bite in between meetings.  As is usually the case during the springtime, the cafeteria was packed full of staffers, constituents and Close Up kids all fighting for a spot in the cashier line.  After dishing up some sinfully delicious mac and cheese, I managed to work my way through the gauntlet toward the cash register.  

That’s when the fun started.

As I waited in line, a visitor, lobbying for a well known pro-Israel group, swung her Vera Bradley tote over her shoulder striking me in the side of the head.  That’s right, the woman hit me in the head with her paisley printed nightmare of a bag virtually assaulting me with her tackiness.  I was aghast.

As I stood silently wondering if I might seriously be injured (I think the woman may have been hiding a cinder block in her purse), it dawned on me that this was, without a doubt, the most ironic situation that I had ever been apart of in my life.  It was like the bag knew of my deep, abiding hatred for Vera Bradley and swung wide just to bitch slap me in retribution.  

In fact, the woman hit me so hard that for a moment, I wondered if I hadn’t been too hard on the garish bags.  Perhaps, I needed to take another look to ensure that I hadn’t pre-judged a trend that on second look, I might find truly stylish (ie. Gladiator sandals).  That was when I realized that I was clearly suffering from a Traumatic Brain Injury and needed to consult a physician.  

Concussion averted, I am now back to my normal snarky self complete with a nausea-inducing dislike for Vera Bradley.  

And so, I pledge to you, my dear readers, that I will never surrender in the fight against this gauche Midwestern fashion staple.  Because, like in politics, it’s when your opponent starts attacking you that you know you’re making an impact.  I will simply need to be more vigilant in the future.

P.S. The photo above is basically my worst nightmare come to life.  Also, I guarantee that the model is wearing Uggs.