All the same, this afternoon, I crossed Court Street to the other side of Brooklyn Heights—to "Fulton Street Mall," a thoroughfare dotted with no-name low-cost retailers that, with my pride tucked away, became my destination for one one day of holiday shopping for my main man.
Among stops was the Brooklyn Macy's, which must be the shameful stepchild of the chain... whose decor is a stunning showcase of... well, let's say 1989, to be kind.And yet, during my couple-hour excursion, I
was surprised to find that everywhere I went, from Macy's to the seemingly most humble destination, everyone was so very pleasant that it turned my mood from blank to merry. At Macy's men's cologne counter, 
a trio of attentive staffers insisted that I sniff, try out this and that scent... while wherever I went—and it was crowded on this late Thursday afternoon—folks begged pardon when we met in the aisles, excused themselves when we knocked into one another... as I chatted with folks in the checkout lines, happily and sans an iota of attitude. By the time I was done, I not only had found some goodies for my husband that I'm excited about, but walked home with a little skip in my step. Wow. Perhaps I need to get out a little more often, huh?
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