Doctor Shopping

 

I was recently shopping in a local jewelry store doing a quick preview of the merchandise to help select an appropriate birthday gift for my husband to give me.  (I do this because I am just give, give, give and I always put his concerns first and I would hate for him to make a bad birthday gift choice - like the time he gave me a book on the architecture of Buffalo.  That will NOT be happening again!)

Selfie of me and Dave when we got engaged.

The saleslady and owner both knew me well.  This is where we had my engagement ring custom designed and again the place where many birthday, anniversary and, of course, Bastille Day gifts come from.

 

  

Then it happened--

a doctor in scrubs walked through the door and the owner of the store flew to him like a moth to a flame.  

The saleswoman who had been showing me diamond studs was so taken by the blinding light of this doc's scrubs that she could barely look at me or complete a sentence in response to a question.  Then I had to wait to see the earrings I was interested until after my doctor friend finished with them.

 

 Hmmmm.  So I went over to a fine art gallery in town where I was really enjoying looking at some paintings.  The lively gallery assistant was showing me lots of beautiful abstracts and describing the techniques the artists used.  They were pulling pieces out of the back to show me and even offered to come to my home to do a trial installation of any art piece I desired.

A favorite Marc Chagall knock off.

when it happened -- AGAIN!

a doctor in scrubs walked through the door.  And I got handed off to another person who had been shuffling through items in the back of the gallery.

What's up with this!?  

Moral of the story:  Next time I decide to go shopping, I will wear green scrubs and tuck a pager onto my waistband for better service.