This afternoon, Brother and I were walking B, and naturally — had our precursory stop with my Guru.

Technically he’s closed today, but since I’m a VIP and all {riiiiight} he keeps the side door open for us. I really wasn’t expecting him to be around, and the first thing I thought of was a favorite handbag of mine in desperate need of repair pre-trip.

Arlight, so handbag in question just might be — okay, is — pleather, but I happen to have a weakness for good pleather. Is there such a thing, you wonder? I am here to tell you there is.

Now I am all about some high end handbags. I have a weakness for them. But, like meditation and a whole host of other things — I don’t discriminate. And frankly, there are times when I just don’t want to be walking around with an expensive, couture ridden bag. Like, say, Paris.

While I might be in the fashion capitol of the world {Universe, perhaps is more like it?}, I’m also my sensible Taurean self — I don’t exactly want to attract attention by walking around with something that could be the equivalent of the average American mortgage.

Thank you very much, but I’ll opt for and raise you my pleather. But, not really. Because I don’t want you to take it. I want it. But I’ll totally help you find one.

So, Guru is all : “where da hell is da bag” in that rolling Italian accent that I adore and well, that was easy to answer – chez moi. It was going on 2 and I had a conference call to make it on by 3. I’m proceeded to be nothing but shocked when the next thing out of his mouth is: “take da car.” But, you know how those words ending in “r” are even more emphasized in Italian? Right, imagine that in your head.

Next thing I know, I’m climbing into a rocked out Cadillac truck and suddenly channeling my inner truckess, which prior to, I didn’t even know I had in me. I mean, me in a truck? Let alone driving one?

Never happened.

There’s bound to be a first time for everything and this was it on the truck front. I realized that, quite appropriately,  it was a luxury model and let me tell ya — could that thing move! I was hauling.

Words cannot even express the power I felt behind that wheel. It was like everyone just dispersed out of my way immediately. That or they were feeling my “get out of my god damn way” vibes. I could get used to that.Very quickly.

Talk about taking Pimp My Ride to a whole new level. Hello, Exhibit, where was yo ass?

When I got back, it wasn’t even 2:15, and we were ready to pound some pavement and make our way home — i.e. get the heart rate up to attempt to walk off last night’s Nutella ridden binge {by the way, it was so worth it}.

Made it home with 15 minutes to spare pre-call and was met by one of my neighbors calling out, “Hey! Your new Escalade is bitchin'”.

Bitchin’, really? It was such an 80’s moment.

There’s only one thing to do in these sorts of pseudo situations that aren’t your own. Just smile, nod, and say thanks. To my Guru.