My teen age niece, the one who will not work somewhere unless the uniforms are cute, was campaigning for a Louis Vuitton handbag from Santa Claus with the determined tenacity of a pit bull going after a ham bone.

Apparently, she was on a fashionista quest to obtain a designer purse collection of Holy Grail proportions. Only other purse addicts such as she know the full extent of this collection. Seeing how she does not deem me worthy of this knowledge, because I only own two designer handbags and I have an aversion to leather, being a vegetarian, I can only guess at the contents. I know so far that she has the following bags: Gucci, Prada, Kate Spade and Coach. Her latest acquisition was a Dooney and Bourke, which she purchased off EBay. Once the purchase was made, she hounded the poor seller so badly as to when it would ship; he shipped it out next day air just to get her off his back.

The day I asked to see her Dooney and Bourke tassel tote purse, she held it up in the air across the room, as if she was afraid of what I might do it once I got my hands on it. Her father finally demanded that she let me actually touch it. Of course, I had to fondle it at length, make the appropriate cooing sounds about its beauty before I threatened to kidnap it the moment I heard of any Dooney and Bourke handbag neglect.

Christmas Eve dinner was the first I heard of her new obsession, a Louis Vuitton handbag. She was convinced that Santa Claus should bring her one. Like a skilled lawyer, she argued her case to her parents for hours, bringing the conversation back to the object of her desire every chance she got. She brought up that a little bird had already told her she got it, so her father might as well confirm it now. Another tactic included climbing into her mother’s lap and snuggling against her as if she was four years old, her mother’s hand in hers as she told the woman who brought her into the world that she would be the happiest girl in the world if only Santa would bring her this one tiny thing.

The moment she left the living room, I leaned over to her mother and asked if Louis Vuitton was actually on the Christmas Present List. Her mom said she was getting a handbag, but it was a Guess.

My eyes widened. After seeing my niece’s performance tonight, I was so glad I was not going to be there in the morning to witness the carnage of a disappointed designer handbag addict.

I caught a glimpse of her in the hallway, talking to her cousins, a frosted sugar cookie clutched in her hand. Her eyes were sparkling, her face animated. I knew darn well what she was talking about. It was then it occurred to me that a little thing like Santa Claus wasn’t going to get in her way to Louis Vuitton. It was only a little blip in the radar.