Oh, yes. I've crammed my amalgamation of ugly, stained canvas grocery bags into this winged-wonder of a shopping bag, and, as if by magic, I *never* forget them when I rush out the door dragging three small children, groping for list, keys, purse, and sanity. Of course, how could I? This sack tantalizingly peeps through the laundry room door, sweetly singing its question."Shall we go to the store?"
It was a gift from my mother, who, after much begging, agreed to suffer the torment of returning to the East Side Cafe on her most recent journey to Austin and bring me two more. Oh, the things a mother will do for her only daughter. Perhaps someday I will endure a similar fate.
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