Shopaholic Takes Manhattan

“Erm… not on me.”

The woman stares at me suspiciously — then stuffs the dog back in the Gucci tote. She walks off, and I resume my search, wondering if I need to buy a dog in order to be a real New Yorker. Except I only like big ones. And you couldn’t exactly lug a Labrador around in a Fendi clutch, could you?

Eventually I choose a beautiful Kate Spade bag in tan leather, and take it up to the counter. It costs five hundred dollars, which sounds quite a lot — but then, “a million lira” sounds like a lot too, doesn’t it? And that’s only about fifty pence. So this is sure to be a bargain.

As the assistant hands me my receipt, she even says something about it being “a gift”—and I beam in agreement.

“A complete gift! I mean, in London, it would probably cost—”

“Gina, are you going upstairs?” interrupts the woman, turning to a colleague. “Gina will show you to the seventh floor,” she says, and smiles at me.

“Right,” I say, in slight confusion. “Well… OK.”

Gina beckons me briskly and, after a moment’s hesitation, I follow her, wondering what’s on the seventh floor. Maybe some complimentary lounge for Kate Spade customers, with free champagne or something!

It’s only as we’re approaching a department entitled “Gift Wrapping” that I suddenly realize what’s going on. When I said gift, she must have thought I meant it was an actual—

“Here we are,” says Gina brightly. “The Saks signature box is complimentary — or choose from a range of quality wrap.”

“Right!” I say. “Well… thanks very much! Although actually, I wasn’t really planning to—”

But Gina has already gone — and the two ladies behind the gift wrap counter are smiling encouragingly at me.

This is a bit embarrassing.

“Have you decided which paper you’d like?” says the elder of the two ladies, beaming at me. “We also have a choice of ribbons and adornments.”

Oh, sod it. I’ll get it wrapped. I mean, it only costs $7.50—and it’ll be nice to have something to open when I get back to the hotel room.

“Yes!” I say, and beam back. “I’d like that silver paper, please, and some purple ribbon… and one of those clusters of silver berries.”

The lady reaches for the paper and deftly begins to wrap up my bag — more neatly than I’ve ever wrapped anything in my life. And you know, this is quite fun! Maybe I should always get my shopping gift wrapped.

“Who’s it to?” says the lady, opening a card and taking out a silver pen.

“Um… to Becky,” I say vaguely. Three girls, all wearing jeans and high-heeled boots, have come into the gift wrap room — and I’m slightly intrigued by their conversation.

“… below wholesale…”

“… sample sale…”

“… Earl jeans…”

“And who is it from?” says the gift wrap lady pleasantly.

“Um… from Becky,” I say without thinking. The gift wrap lady gives me a rather strange look and I suddenly realize what I’ve said. “A… a different Becky,” I add awkwardly.

“… sample sale…”

“… Alexander McQueen, pale blue, 80 percent off…”

“… sample sale…”

“… sample sale…”

I cannot bear this any longer.

“Excuse me,” I say, turning round. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation — but I just have to know one thing. What is a sample sale?”

The whole gift wrap area goes quiet. Everyone is staring at me, even the lady with the silver pen.

“You don’t know what a sample sale is?” says a girl in a leather jacket eventually, as though I’ve said I don’t know my alphabet.

“Erm… no,” I say, feeling myself flush red. “No, I… I don’t.” The girl raises her eyebrows, reaches in her bag, rummages around, and eventually pulls out a card. “Honey, this is a sample sale.”

I take the card from her — and as I read, my skin starts to prickle with excitement.

SAMPLE SALE

Designer clothes, 50–70 % off.

Ralph Lauren, Comme des Garçons, Gucci.

Bags, shoes, hosiery, 40–60 % off.

Prada, Fendi, Lagerfeld.

“Is this for real?” I breathe at last, looking up. “I mean, could… could I go to it?”

“Oh yeah,” says the girl. “It’s for real. But it’ll only last a day.”