Shopaholic Ties the Knot (Shopaholic #3) 42

OK, now let’s see what Annie and Rod chose. I press “Enter” again, and another list starts appearing in front of me.

Gosh, Annie and Rod are keen on barware! I wonder why they want three ice buckets.

This is completely addictive! Let’s see what Richard and Fay are getting. And then Leroy and Rachelle… I print them both out, and am just wondering whether to try another name, like Brown, when a voice says, “Can I help you, miss?” My head jerks up and I see a salesman wearing a name badge reading “Bud” smiling at me. “Are you having some trouble locating the list you want?”

I feel myself prickle with embarrassment.

I can’t admit I’m just snooping.

“I… actually… I’ve just found it.” I grab randomly for Richard and Fay’s list. “They’re friends of mine. Richard and Fay.” I clear my throat. “I want to buy them a wedding present. That’s why I’m here. Also, I want to register myself.”

“Well, let’s deal with the purchase first. What would you like to buy?”

“Umm… well…” I look down at the list. “Um…”

Come on. I’m not really going to buy a present for a pair of complete strangers. Just admit the truth. I was nosy.

“Actually… I think I’ll leave it for another day,” I say. “But I would like to register a list myself.”

“No problem!” says Bud cheerily. “Here’s the form for you to fill in as you go around… you’ll see that most of our merchandise breaks down into sections…”

“Oh, right. What sort of—”

“Kitchenware, flatware, hollowware, barware, stemware, glassware…” He pauses for breath. “And miscellaneous.”

“Right…”

“It can be a little overwhelming, deciding what you’re going to want in your new home.” He smiles at me. “So what I suggest is, you start with the basics. Think about your everyday needs — and work up from there. If you need me, just give me a shout!”

“Great! Thanks very much!”

Bud moves away and I look around the store with a fizz of anticipation. I haven’t been so excited since I used to write out lists for Father Christmas. And even then, Mum would stand over my shoulder, saying things like “I’m not sure Father Christmas can give you the real ruby slippers, darling. Why not ask for a nice coloring book instead?”

Now, no one’s telling me what I can or can’t have. I can write down anything I like! I can ask for those plates over there… and that jug… and that chair… I mean, if I wanted to, I could ask for everything! The whole shop!

You know. In theory.

But I’m not going to get carried away. I’ll start with everyday needs, just as Bud suggested. Feeling pleasantly grown-up, I wander toward a display of kitchen equipment and start perusing the shelves.

Ooh. Lobster crackers! Let’s get some of those. And those cute little corn holders. And those sweet little plastic daisies. I don’t know what they’re for, but they look so gorgeous!

I note the numbers carefully down on my list. OK. What else? As I look around again, my attention is caught by a gleaming array of chrome.

Wow. We just have to have a frozen yogurt maker. And a waffle maker. And a bread cooker, and a juicer, and a Pro Chef Premium Toaster Oven. I write down all the numbers and look around with a sigh of satisfaction. Why on earth have I never registered before? Shopping without spending any money!

You know, I should have got married a long time ago.

“Excuse me?” The girl with the ponytail is over in the knife section. “Do you know what poultry shears are?” She holds up a piece of equipment I’ve never seen before in my life.

“They’re… shears for poultry… I guess…”

For a moment we stare at each other blankly, then the girl shrugs, says “OK,” and writes it down on her list.

Maybe I’ll get some poultry shears too. And one of those cool herb-chopper things. And a professional blowtorch for making crème brûlée.

Not that I’ve ever made crème brûlée — but you know. When I’m married, I’m bound to. I have a sudden vision of myself in an apron, nonchalantly brûléeing with one hand and drizzling a homemade fruit coulis with the other, while Luke and an assortment of witty guests look on admiringly.

“So where else are you registering?” says the girl, picking up an egg whisk and peering at it.

I look at her in surprise. “What do you mean? Are you allowed more than one list?”