Episode 4: Tiffany and the Devil’s Handbag

If Cosmo Farfetch had an archenemy — and he would insist he had many — then Tiffany was the undisputed queen of the list. Once upon a time, the two had been inseparable. They plaited each other’s hair, threw questionable balloons at older kids, and swore lifelong loyalty sealed with smudged eyeliner. But childhood oaths rarely survive adolescence, and their friendship collapsed in a hail of scandal, tears, and Tommy Woods.

Ah yes, Tommy Woods: the French-note-writing schoolboy whose charms caused a memory lapse for Cosmo. He had forgotten that Tiffany and Tommy were dating. No wonder she looked mortified finding the two boys “studying conjugations” at school camp. Naked.

The situation was inflamed even further when Cosmo stealthily retrieved his finger from inside Tommy, with a smug smile on his face and a sample of the boy still dripping from his lips. Tiffany had vowed revenge. Cosmo was outed becoming a pariah to all for being such a slut while Tommy was forced to leave town in shame. Tiffany still believed, to this day, that their parents should know the deviants that they were.

The war between Cosmo and Tiffany had begun. She looked to humiliate and one up on him every chance she got. She never let up.

Which brings us to brunch. Tiffany arrived, resplendent and smug, with a brand-new Hermès Birkin swinging from her arm. For most women, it would be “a little treat.” For Tiffany, it was a declaration of war. Cosmo had been on the waiting list for three years; Tiffany simply sidestepped it with the efficiency of someone who knew exactly whose bed to warm.

Cosmo’s reaction was, predictably, operatic. He clutched his pearls, he gasped, he declared Tiffany “a discount napkin in designer drag.” The café fell silent, save for the awkward cough of a waiter already preparing the ban notice.

But beneath the theatrics, there was history — and worse, inheritance. Tiffany had one upped him by marrying his father, maneuvering herself neatly into a share of the will while nudging Cosmo closer to the curb. If the handbag was a symbol of anything, it was this: Tiffany always wins. For now.

Because somewhere in that velvet-cushioned mess of martinis and melodrama, Cosmo Farfetch was beginning to plot.

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