Zombie Plague

I'm sure by now you're aware that I'm a Prada. I don't like to brag, making other purses feel less than...but it is a vital part of this story, Reader. The Lady has been battling with a plague that has left her with the lustre of a Zombie. Many nights from my perch on the green vinyl kitchen chair, I heard her toss and turn and cough and blow her nose over and over. Poor dear. Now, I sympathize. No one likes to see their loved one suffer. However, something most appalling has arisen from this plague. Something almost unforgivable. Perhaps the illness had impaired her judgement. Perhaps the fatigue had left her unable to gauge the consequences of her actions. The Lady, blowing her nose in public venues around the city, would...oh, it embarrasses me to divulge this to you...put her phlegm-filled tissues in me until she could find a trash bin. Quel horreur! I'm a Prada. A pretty, purple Prada purse. And in her crusty-nosed-tossing-and-turning-Zombified-state of mind, she thought it appropriate to fill me with moist, sticky, lotion-laden Puffs. Can we bounce back from this? Only time will tell...