My heart races and my eyes dart back and forth like my one-year-old is trying to escape (why in the hell was I so excited about him walking?!?). Suddenly, I laser focus on something shiny...silver. Running through the aisle, I try to look flippant and not like I have identified my latest prey. I pat down my hair, smooth over my shirt that is covered in drool and the offshoots of my sons sippy cup. Calm yourself, Harvie, you need to act like you've got your shit together and not run over that poor old man who is checking out stereo equipment next to you.
I pick it up, careful not to drop it because my hands are shaking.
A tray. I casually turn it over to see if there is a marking on the back. Can't alarm the sales people, they may start to get suspicious of the crazy lady holding the tray.
A Reed and Barton tray.
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