With a smile on my face and spring in my step I make my way to the bedding department. I have a plan: p-i-l-l-o-w-s! They’re not necessary and that makes the prospect all the more sumptuous.
Ahh… I stroll among giant bins overflowing with offerings… feather, down, memory foam, micro bead, body contouring, buckwheat… . Would it be considered bad form to climb into the bins? And the pillow cases! Silk, Egyptian cotton, velvet, organic bamboo, linen… yes, yes, yes! I run my fingers over them, Which would make the best addition?
I notice a white-haired wheelchair-bound man looking at comforters stacked on shelves against the wall. He’d been in the same spot for a while. I have a hard enough time reaching things on shelves and I could imagine the difficulty from a wheelchair. “Can I get something down for you?” I ask him.
“I can’t decide which one,” he says. He appears to be 85+ years.
“What’s your favorite color?” That’s as good a place as any to start.
“This one comes with a bed skirt.”
“What’s that?” he asks.
“It’s a ruffle that goes around the bed.”
“Do I look like I need a ruffle on my bed?” His mild indignation makes me laugh out loud.
“Okay,” I say. “Those ones are comforters only.”
He stares at them, lost.
“Is it a comforter you need or a duvet?” I look around but there are no sales staff.
“I want to get something my lady friend will like,” he says.
“Really.” I say, hoping my surprise isn’t too obvious. Then I notice he’s actually in a motorized scooter and has a set of sheets in his lap. He also has bags of other purchases in his front basket and at his feet.
“In that case,” I say, “I’d get this one.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply. “It’s the prettiest and it matches the sheets you’ve chosen.”
“Here,” I point out the colors in the pattern that exactly match the sheets.
“I didn’t even notice that.”
“This isn’t one you’d pick for yourself, so she’ll know you were thinking of her.”
He nods and beams a smile at me. “Thank you.”
I pull it down from the shelf. “Will you be able to see over it?”
“Where there’s a will there’s a way!” he declares as he maneuvers his parcels, sheets and comforter.
“True.” No doubt.
He waves and his motor whirrs as he speeds off to the cash register with his love nest accoutrements.
I turn back to the pillows…waiting…waiting… . Nope, *le sigh*. The thrill is gone. Commandeered and overflowing from a runaway motorized scooter.
Time for brunch, I think, looking at my phone. Proper shopping should only be done after lovely eggs benedict anyway.