This is what happens when you're with me

Susan and I went to a gallery in Union Square to pick up a gift for my mother's birthday. We walked in and the gallery owner announced, "I've got to run move my car. You guys watch the shop."

Susan responds, "Um, okay. I'll take my jacket off so I'll look more in place."

I say, "I'll be the customer!" (Because, I guess, I am?)

She immediately begins hunting for some sort of "polishing cloth to dust some of these displays."

Belgian tourists come in and she gives them brochures and pretends to be knowledgeable.

We are left with the entire inventory of fine art glass, lacquered russian thingamajigs, and other assorted Artworks. It never really even occurs to me, until after we leave, that I could have stuffed my pockets and ran, were I the type of person inclined to such acts. Is that virtue or pollyanna suckerdom?

I asked Susan to sell me something, so I could take a picture. Here she is explaining to me the nuanced beauty of this possibly inhabited planet, which, she claimed, sports lots of "gorgeous flying saucers":



She said, "This stuff only happens when I'm with you."

Why, thank you!