SHATTERING SHOPPING EXPERIENCE

My friend is now the proud owner of sixteen brand new pint glasses.  To be honest, she actually has fifteen new pint glasses and one glass that is a pint plus two millimeters (however many cubic centimeters that may be).  If her housemate looks really closely, he just might see the difference, but we are betting that he won't ... look too closely or notice, that is.

The saga all starts at TJ Maxx.

First of all, we are looking for sandals for my friend.  I promptly find a pair of sandals and a pair of high-end flip-flops.  Into the carriage they go.  My friend also finds a pair of sandals, but not the ones she covets -- those she discovers are uncomfortable (as many covet-able shoes are).

We make the mistake of walking by the bathing suits.  I have not bought a new bathing suit in many, many years and am in desperate need.  I despise bathing suit shopping and have already rejected many suits this season in my quest to replace the threadbare ones I still have at home.  A recent trip to a pool has convinced me that it's time to buy.  After the half dozen swimsuits I've been through already at other stores, I load up with a dozen or more swimsuits, including two my friend recommends but that I doubt will be "the ones."  Turns out that both of the suits my friend finds for me will actually work (and actually fit).

By the way, I need a new carry-on suitcase because the one I own has a broken handle that keeps slipping and pinching my palm, and the wheels are getting worn out.  I find a nice one, perhaps a little too colorful for me in pink and black, but very suitable with the four wheels and a secure, non-biting handle.  Yes, into the carriage goes that sucker, too.

But, wait.  Perhaps we should check out the home goods section.  After all, my friend could use some glasses, perhaps a set of twelve.  Like me, she has collected glasses over the years, but not a set that matches.  Now that she is in a new place, it's time for real, guest-worthy, matching glasses.  So, we peruse the glassware section and find a decent set that may work.  We take pictures with me as the hand model, send them to her apartment-mate, and wait for the response.  There are only two boxes of eight pint glasses, not the twelve she would like, but sixteen might work.

In the meantime while waiting for a text response, we buy the items that we have and decide we will head down the street to Target.  Surely Target must have more glasses!  It will be like Glass-Mania there, right?

RIGHT?

Wrong.

When it comes to glassware (and plates and utensils), Target ain't no Wal-Mart or Christmas Tree Shop.  The selection is paltry and borderline embarrassing.  At this point a text from the roommate arrives confirming that the original glasses from TJ Maxx look damn fine.  We leave the empty cart inside Target and hightail it back down the street to our original haunt, making a beeline for the two boxes of glasses.

This is where I would like to simply say: "SUCCESS!"  This, however, is not the case.  When picking up the second (and only other) box of these particular pint glasses, we hear a distinct tinkling sound.  We are quite certain that my friend and her cohort do not want glasses that tinkle all on their own, so we open the top to discover that one of the pint glasses has shattered.

What to do, what to do.  A sale price is, after all, still a sale price.

What we ultimately decide to do is carefully remove as many of the glass shards as we can, and we gingerly lift the remnant of the broken pint glass out of the box and place it on a shelf.  This is when we are very, very, very naughty: We replace the broken glass in the box with a nearly identical pint glass that is sitting with a couple of others just loose on the display a few shelves above where we found the box of glasses.  The loose pint glass is ever-so-slightly taller than the other glasses but otherwise appears to be a match.

All we have to do is refold the top of the box and make sure the miniscule height difference does not set off alarm bells at the cash register.  All is well, and we run through the cashiers like we are running the damn gauntlet, like we are running from the Pamplona bulls, like our freaking pants are on fire.

As far as I know (and unless he reads this blog), my friend's flatmate has not noticed the extra few sips of refreshment in the glass, and the height difference will not be obvious to the naked and slightly inebriated eye.  We may not come home with the original sandals that are on the list, but we definitely chalk up yet another successful shopping misadventure.