Andy Lien

A Coach side effects 0f metformin purse is something I’ve internalized as signifying that once I have one, I’ve made it.  Much like a KitchenAid stand mixer for my cooking battery, a Coach purse in my wardrobe means that I’m serious about this being a woman thing.

It’s an investment.  It’s functional.  It’s attractive.  It’s classic.*

And, it’s a hard decision to make, spending a hefty amount on a purse.  I’ll tell you right now that I’ve not chosen to buy one–I shop for my purses at TJMaxx and the like.  I haven’t chosen to be called “Ma’am,” yet.

Aisha, on the other hand, not only has a Coach handbag, but just recently acquired a KitchenAid stand mixer.  I’m a little jealous, but mostly choose to admire her spoils for what they are: A great bag and a nice mixer that were both gifts from her husband.  Rah.

The same day I saw this fine carriage at Southdale, Aisha and I decided to stop at the Coach store and look into her ailing handbag.  We’d been through Macy’s and had free facials and makeovers.  I’d bought Mother’s Day jewelry for my mom.  She’d gotten a new KitchenAid cookbook in observation of her newest family member, the stand mixer.  We were feeling very womanly and pampered as we strode into the Coach store.

Aisha had gotten her Coach handbag from her husband a couple of years ago.  In her work as a legal professional, it ended up being her workhorse, carrying documents and a daily supply of all-things-Aisha.  It was tired.  But, it was also fraying.  As a Coach, it was not holding up well.

I dared to draw a comparison between her handbag and my couch.  She let me, so apparently it worked well enough to suit her relationship with her handbag.  I saw her Coach and my couch as both being beautiful at one time, holding much sentimental value, working hard for their owners, hiding all manner of sins, and eventually earning their retirement. Or, demanding it in my case.  Speaking to one of the Coach store employees, Aisha held out her handbag proudly and pointed out its flaws with great sensitivity, as if the handbag could hear her.

She and the Coach employee spoke in Coach Code, well above my feeble mind.  The model was a specific girl name…Sadie? Sally?  Sookie?  (I kid.  Aisha’s a big Sookie Stackhouse fan.)  I was able to make out through the Code that they’d had problems with the durability of that model and they stand behind their product…and make up for its faults.

This is when I piped up clarifying, “So, what does that mean?”

It meant that she could pick out a brand new Coach handbag in exchange for her old one–equal to or greater than the price of the original.

I pushed the point, “And how much was the original?”

$398.

Gasp.

I didn’t know!  I knew they were pricey, but I didn’t realize that a fabric handbag could cost that much, even at Coach.

The Coach employee explained that it could be a good idea for Aisha to switch to leather.  In my mind, leather should cost twice as much as fabric, so when she said that, I thought, “Oh, here’s the catch.  They’ll trade it but recommend she get something twice as expensive as the credit.”

Nope.  I was very wrong.  Aisha basically had a carte blanche shopping spree ahead of her.

I was squealing with delight.

She was distraught.

This is where the her Coach/my couch comparison ends.

The sentimental value of my couch was irrelevant when it couldn’t fit through the door.  The sentimental value of her Coach was still only too seductive as she pondered her options.

I was going to kill her if she didn’t trade up.

In the store.  Dead.

And, if she didn’t go with leather, I was going to cause a scene.

In the store.  A big one.

After much deliberation, she caught on to the excitement.  She tried on bag after bag.  She thought over scenarios.

She chose well.

At the end of our time at Coach, Aisha had a new black leather workhorse handbag…I believe that Coach Code Name for it is “kristin.”  But, that’s not all.  She also had a new little black clutch purse.  I kid you not.  Two bags for one.  We hadn’t an inkling that it would go down that way, but once she emptied the contents of her old Coach into one of their swank shopping bags, they’d taken down the bag’s serial number, and handed over the two black beauties, we were out the door with smiles on our faces.  (Maybe a few tears.  From her.)

And, all I can say is Coach done right by me.  Way to stand behind your product.  What you charge for the product is backed up by a nice care and maintenance policy.  I salute you, whether or not I ever get my own.

* I have metformin 500 mg dosage to admit that some of the new Coach styles are gaudy and garish.  I am not referring to those here when I say “classic.”