Some people have skeletons in their closet. I don’t have room. I have bags.

Big, small, short, tall, you name it, I’ve got it. I have bags for the beach and bags for my ski gear. Overnight bags big enough to hold enough clothing for a week and purses that barely hold my cell phone. Backpacks and totes, sporty sacks and beaded satchels. I literally have a bag for every occasion.

At least, I thought I did.

Last week, as I packed for a business trip, I stuffed my suits in a garment bag, my pearls in a jewelry pouch, my makeup in a quilted toiletry case, my shoes in the shoe compartment of my suitcase. Heck, I even zipped my shampoo and conditioner bottles into a Ziploc, just in case. But when I went to stuff my laptop and planner into a briefcase, I came up empty-handed.

I was headed to Washington, D.C., where suits are the uniform and conservative elegance is de rigueur. I figured my orange and teal vintage Gucci bag wouldn’t quite fit the bill, even if it would hold my notebooks, pens, camera, and everything else I needed. My old briefcase was a disaster: a poorly designed Kenneth Cole bag that spilled out its contents every time I opened it.

That’s just what I needed: “Hi, Senator Collins, nice to meet you. Whoops, sorry! Didn’t mean to break your foot with my computer.” I’m enough of a klutz on my own, I don’t need my bag to be an accomplice.

So off I went, in hot pursuit of the right bag. For the record, I’ve been looking for a suitable briefcase for years now, and since I refuse to shell out $225 for the Coach model that I really want, I keep buying inferior substitutes. This is not good shopping practice, but something inside me (you could call it denial) keeps hoping against hope that the bag of my dreams will show up at T.J.’s for $75.

That didn’t happen on my last visit. I knew exactly what I was looking for: black, leather, a long enough strap to sling over my shoulder, but short enough that I could carry it in my hand without it dragging on the ground. It needed to be big enough for my iMac, with a zip top to protect it from the elements. But it also needed to be small enough so if I dropped my keys in the main compartment, I could find them before next January.

There were plenty of options at T.J. Maxx ‘n More. The Tommy Hilfiger totes emblazoned with the “T” logo didn’t exactly scream “professional,” but neither did the leather Kenneth Cole reaction bag I tried to talk myself into. There was a highly functional Nine West cloth bag, with pockets for everything, but something about it reminded me of a diaper bag, so I kept looking. A DKNY satchel on the clearance rack had potential, but the straps were weird. I could do it, but only as a last resort.

Off I went to the mall. At Filene’s, there were a host of bags that would’ve been fine, but I was so blinded by the object of my desire that I couldn’t think rationally. (Note to woman at Coach counter: sorry about the drool.) I ran into an old co-worker who said she saw briefcases at Burlington Coat Factory. I was running out of time, so out the door I went.

If you’ve ever been to Burlington Coat Factory, you know it can be a little overwhelming. It’s huge. They have tons of stuff. And it’s easy to get distracted, which is what I did as soon as I walked through the door. I almost convinced myself that I needed a new watch. I briefly considered a magenta blouse (why? I don’t know). But once I made it to the bag department, I knew I had hit paydirt.

I grabbed two microfiber Nine West bags, a leather tote by some company I’d never heard of, and a teeny-tiny slip of a handbag by Rosetti (because really, what I needed was another purse). The women in the bag department must have thought I was a bit strange, strutting around with four bags hanging off my arms, testing them for strap length, comfort, and general appearance.

They all performed admirably, and I almost walked away with one of the Nine Wests. Then, as I turned the corner, something caught my eye.

A lone Ralph Lauren bag hung from a hook, subtly calling my name. Its lines were sophisticated, almost Coachlike. Its shape and size were ideal. And at $50, it was a bargain.

So long, skeletons. Mama’s got a brand new bag.

ShopGirl would love to hear from you. Send questions, comments or suggestions by mail to: Kristen Andresen, Bangor Daily News, P.O. Box 1329, Bangor, ME 04402-1329; by e-mail to kandresen@bangordailynews.net or by fax to 941-9476.