The bell jingled as we crossed the threshold to one of our favorite stores. The afternoon sun warmed the drafty building, and the floor boards creaked in a nostalgic play for charm. I studied the glasswork, the pewter trinkets, and the prism-strewn jacquard lampshades before moving toward the fanciful figurines. We were Christmas shopping, but it is a shop of such a whimsy that works to entice the dreamer, and I was well pleased to be in such a place.

I picked my way through the capricious nooks and breathed deeply, contentedly, as the dust motes sparked in the ambient light. My services of council were to be offered there, as they are often acquiesced in the gift-giving occasions. I can't say if it is that I have good taste or that I am excessively skilled at spending other people's money, but why split hairs?

I sharpened my gaze as Mom and the shopkeeper spoke gaily, laughing at nothing and everything, and found treasures of interest. I did not join in the merry exchange, but found the stony set of my mouth cracking and turning upright at the corners. How infectious it is, the chords of glee. But, I would not be deterred from my mission, and clasped my mother's elbow, leading her back to task.

She raised both hands to her face and pressed them to her cheeks as she oohed and ahhed over the objects of my interest. Fifteen seconds had not passed and she was asking the shopkeeper to wrap them up. The shopkeeper was rather giddy too, and exclaimed, "You guys are ALWAYS such good shoppers!" Mom and I smiled nervously at each other and looked toward the ground and our scuffing feet as she twittered on. I don't know if it's something to be proud of, really, but yeah, I know how to shop...