Every spring and fall, I head to NYC for some retail therapy with my friend Ann. A few years ago, we had one of our adventures in Saks Fifth Avenue.  It’s as famous (to me) for the piranhas at the cosmetics counters as it is for its Christmas windows.  And I always get a kick out of the phone charging station.

First, we visited designer shoes.  Ann bought a navy blue pair of Jimmy Choos, and I lived vicariously through her. Then we headed down to the first floor.  I needed sunglasses for an upcoming trip to South Beach.  In the accessories department, there was an entire wall of sunglasses.  Two women worked there, and there was a counter to stand behind and make your selections.  I told the ladies what I was looking for, and couldn’t wait to try some pairs on.  But it was not to be.

The first woman (we’ll call her the boss) studied me briefly.  She then gestured to the second woman, who deftly grabbed a pair from the middle of the wall.  The boss handed me the glasses and barked, “These!”  I shook my head – they weren’t me.  Too glam, too high-fashion.  Not preppy.  “These!”  she hissed.  “Try them!”  To please her, I did.  

When I looked into the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself.  Could this person be…hip? I stammered, “I don’t know, not what I usually wear.”  The two nodded disapprovingly.  They knew what I usually wore and they also knew it wouldn’t cut it in South Beach, Palm Beach, or even Rockaway Beach.   

“With your coloring and face shape, this is the only pair in this store for you, “ the boss said.  The ONLY pair?  In the entire store?  I asked if  I could try another pair, just to compare.  And just how much was this pair anyway?  Squinting without my reading cheaters, I could barely detect a “3” as the first digit.  I asked to see another pair and glanced over at Ann.  Girlfriend just spent $700 on a pair of shoes, no sympathy there.

Sighing, the boss barked to her assistant, who grabbed another pair.  Both were already shaking their heads “no” before I tried them on.  “These are not right,” the boss told me.  “But try them anyway.”  I did, and they were not.  I then asked if maybe they had any Ray Bans.  “We do,” the boss said, “but you’re not buying them.”  What do you mean, I thought to myself?  They both folded their arms.  “The first pair works.”   

I tried.  I said as a teacher I couldn’t afford the first pair.  “Right,” said the boss, “this from the girl who is wearing an Hermès cuff.”  Darn.  Foiled again.  Ann kicked me under the counter.  “Who makes this pair anyway?” I asked.  Both women did a mental eye roll and the assistant said, “Have you heard of Tom Ford?”  True New Yorkers, they clearly didn’t  have time for my indecision.

Yes, I read Vogue and knew who Tom Ford was.  And now I was fairly certain that was a “3” in the first digit of the price tag.  What to do?  I looked in the mirror again, and did the only thing I could.  I sang out, “I’ll take them!”   I held my breath for the total.  “You get a cleaning cloth in here, too,” the boss chirped.  Great, I thought. For $300 the airfare to South Beach should also be included.            

You would think that I wear those sunglasses all the time.  But the reality is, I rarely wear them.  The sand at the beach or sunscreen at the pool could ruin them.  They’re not polarized for the boat, and they don’t fit inside my small purse for happy hour.  They feel too special for driving glasses.

Yes, my cost per wear is high.  And no, I don’t wear them often.  But when I do, I feel like a million bucks.  They make any outfit look less frumpy.  Those sunglasses truly spark joy.  It reminds me of a memorable day with a close friend.  And I think even South Beach approved.

I’ve since returned to Saks.  Sadly, the store was renovated and the department reorganized.  No sign of the ladies.  Would I buy sunglasses from them again?  In a heartbeat.  No regrets here.  Sometimes the splurge is worth it.  The same goes for bubbly.  Since we’re splurging, I’ll even let Ann bring the Veuve Clicquot.  What are friends for?