SATURDAY SHOPPING SPREE —
Saturday shopping brings back many wonderful childhood memories. Every Saturday my mom, my aunt, and I went to town. My baby brother was forced to tag along literally kicking and screaming, he absolutely abhorred shopping. Twenty years later he married the all time queen of shopping, a true marathoner. Definitely Karma. As a teenager I roamed the mall, spending entire Saturdays browsing. As a teen I wanted to live at the mall– today not so much.
Somewhere around the age of twenty-something (a good many years ago), I lost a part of my DNA that all women are born with–a shopping gene. Poof, gone, evaporated into the stratosphere. The thought of spending a day shopping takes me to a state much like my brother’s prepubescent pout. Probably Karma again, but this time I don’t quite get it. Okay, maybe a little.
A Saturday shopping day with me looks something like this. I wake at five-thirty, boring but true, and Saturday is no exception. It’s a leftover habit from my previous life that I still embrace. I live on the water and the early morning sunrise is spectacular.
The view’s captivating, and I thank God everyday that my husband talked me into living in this remote part of the world. I mean seriously, I’m forty-five minutes from a Walmart or a Starbucks. The later was really hard to get used to because I’m addicted to their green tea. And even though Walmart isn’t my favorite shopping experience, those suckers are everywhere.
So here I am living in the middle of nowhere, with a list of items as long as my Standard Poodle. Finding everything on the list will require visiting a minimum of four stores, not to mention the ninety-minute drive into Savannah.
First stop is Ferguson’s. We’re remodeling our kitchen and I have a price comparison spreadsheet that would make my college Statistics professor beam with joy. I’m also equipped with a file of printed cooktop ads featuring the range with the pretty red buttons– the one I’ve coveted for twenty years. The one that’s most likely out of my price range, but a girl can dream. I also have twenty different photos of French style refrigerators, wine coolers, dishwashers, and ice makers. I’m armed and dangerous, no sales person will have the upper hand. Game on!
Twenty minutes into a face-to-face with the pretty and petite and a tad bit petulant, not-a-day-over-twenty-two, Melissa, I admit to myself that I’m way over my head. BTU’s and downdrafts and double burners and my head is swimming. I stuff a few more brochures into my file, sulk away, and head into the downtown shopping district to wallow in my confusion.
I cop the last vacant table at The Tea Room on Broughton Street, and figure my luck must be changing. After a to-die-for crab quiche, pot of tea, and a diet-chrusher-ten-pound chocolate torte, I decide to browse the shops and leave the kitchen designing behind for now.
My first stop is the shoe store two doors from the cafe. This particular boutique reminds me of my all time favorite shoe store in Gainesville–The Cobbler. This Broughton Street boutique has Ferragamos and those puppies are on sale. Ferragamos and Stuart Weitzman– two other brands I love but can’t afford. Unfortunately even on sale, today is no exception.
I wander through several more shops, and spend over an hour in an antique store for no apparent reason. I own one antique, a beautiful Murano glass bowl given to me by my sister-in-law who recently died of Alzheimer’s. Even though antiques are not part of my home décor, I love to amble through the shops, touching, and feeling the pieces. They seem to have a soul, a story to tell. Savannah’s overrun with antique stores, and the merchandise is all lovely, but it’s the owners that are the most intriguing. They make such fascinating characters for my stories, but I digress.
It’s four o’clock, my feet hurt, my tummy’s full, and I’m pining for my river. I want to sit on the dock, have a glass of wine, and commune with the dolphins who visit twice a day.
Arrived just in time to see the sunset on the river…