Kelly has often bragged that she can return anything. It doesn’t matter when or where you bought it she will get your money back. When we had our garage sale our neighbor, Don, brought over a juicer still in its box. It was a gift he received a few years ago. He used it a few times and then it gathered dust in the basement.

"Where’d ya get it” she interrupted. Her eyes narrowed, she licked her lips, somewhere, far off, a dog barked.

"I think they got it at Target” He replied, backing up refusing to make eye contact.

Sure you can sell it here and maybe get 25 bucks for it but it’s probably worth 5 times that new. I’ll return it for you."

Don, a nervous math professor stammered, “no that’s ok- $25 is ok. - I used it and it’s been a few years”

“Ha!” Kelly barked.

“Let the man sell his juicer.” I interjected never realizing that I would ever have to utter such a sentence.


We knew those days were done when we moved to Paris. You simply don’t return things here. It isn’t done.

Kelly bought a pair of boots at a vintage store in the Marias 3 days ago. They are good looking brown boots, fashionable and, since “vintage” really means “used” they were a reasonably priced for two unemployed people.
“Do they seem too big to you?” She asked the next day
“Oh merde”
“Really- feel my toe, it’s all the way back here.”
“No, no they look fine”
“Hmmmm” she eyed me suspiciously.
Kelly went to the cobbler down the street.
“Do these seem too big to you?” She asked him.
“How should I know they’re your feet not mine” (Honestly that’s what the cobbler said)
3 days went by.
Where’s that bag that the boots came in?” she queried.
“Mon Dieu”- I’m learning French but not the kind I had hoped for.
“I’m going back to return these boots, they are too big”
“Good luck with all that.” I laughed
Two hours later she came back with the boots exchanged. I was amazed.
She explained what happened.
“The guy told me that he has never taken back a sale and I told him ‘but that’s what’s going to make this so much fun.”

By the way- Don did not sell his juicer at our garage sale. -He walked home with his head hung low, and the juicer under his arm. Under Kelly’s judgmental eye, he took that long walk of shame back to his house.