A document of a certain someone's strange behaviour

Hooman and I finally bought the Ken Onion knife yesterday. It's quite the extravagance for a guy and girl who don't live to cook but cook for survival. But it's a good knife and we'll only ever need the one. It's meant to last til we die.

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For several days, he's been saying he wants to buy me something. On Valentine's Day he drove us to Short Hills Mall, where he bought himself a pair of shoes and a zippered cardigan. I really didn't see anything that I thought I'd need.

He went out shopping again yesterday. I tried to wriggle out of it, but eventually I went out to meet him. That's when we bought the Ken Onion knife. Afterwards, on the way to the PATH, we pass by a shop selling cowboy boots and he says, "Wanna look at some shoes?"

"Okay," I say.

We enter the shop and there are rows and rows of cowboy boots. He says, "Wanna try anything out?"

"I really don't know how to pick a good cowboy boot," I tell him. We walk out.

Back out on the street, he asks if I feel like going to the mystery bookshop a few blocks west from there. I think about the three library books I have at home. "I already have books to read," I announce to him.

We walk on in silence. As we round the corner towards Ninth Street, he says, "Ever been to that pharmacy?" He gestures vaguely to a row of shops ahead of us.

"Bigelow's?" I ask.

He nods brightly. "It's nice."

We keep walking. "So, do you want to go to Bigelow's?" I ask.

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Anyway, the long and short of it was: we ended up not going to Bigelow's because it was south of where we were; we were heading north. That's just as well, because what I could have possibly wanted from a pharmacy, I don't know.