I never believed in love [during the hormone-dominated reign of the teenage era]. Nor was I ever one of those Nicholas-Spark-loving romantics. I’m only seventeen (though nearing eighteen in less than a week!); thus I doubt my ability to let down my guard and give unconditionally to another. I am American, mind you. And on top of that, I have been raised in the generation epitomized by selfishness and materialism. Double the selfishness! [You love my cynicism. Don’t even bother denying it.] But I did fall in love. I did. Wholly, selflessly, in love. The kind—in sappy chick flicks—where you get the butterflies and your heart palpitates right out of your chest. The kind where your breath shortens and you feel warm and tingly and all sorts of sensations simultaneously. Behold. The oversized Mulberry Alexa. One thousand, two hundred fifty dollars of pure perfection. Never mind money. Things of that nature are arbitrary when it comes to true love. It seems unusual, doesn’t it, that I would lust over such a bag? My personal style is perhaps best described as “coquettishly feminine, classic, and sophisticated” (I had to ask a friend for adjectives since I am absolutely horrid at characterizing myself). One would then deduce, rightfully so, that I would…