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cheesy highball glasses, that’s just grand.”
    “In the old days,” I said with my newfound enthusiasm, “trophies used to be sterling silver. But it’s awfully expensive. Besides, my mother left me the sterling that her dogs won. And I have some crystal, too. You still see crystal at shows, and it’s really beautiful. Of course, the trophies I own are mainly bowls and stuff. But we don’t need anything to drink out of. Steve and I discussed that. We own a million mugs and glasses.”
    “That don’t match,” said Rita, “and have dogs on them.”
    “Not exclusively. The obedience ones have high jumps. And some of them have names of kennel clubs. But I do get the point. If we’re giving a show, we want to give it with style.” Although Rita was professionally alarmed by the reason for my change in attitude, she seized on my new eagerness and led me through the areas of Bloomingdale’s that displayed china, crystal, and silver. Just as some fortunate people are said to possess “an eye for dogs,” Rita evidently possessed an eye for expensive household objects. The prices horrified me. The cost of one place setting in the china pattern Rita favored was what I’d have expected to pay for an entire set of dishes.
    “It’s china,” she corrected me. “Not just dishes. And when people buy wedding gifts, they don’t want to buy junk.”
    “My friends can’t afford this stuff. And what if I drop it?”
    “You won’t use it very often,” she said.
    “Then why am I asking for it?”
    “Every culture has its rites and rituals for marking important life transitions. Marriage is a major life event. In our culture, doing what we’re doing now is one of the rites of passage that mark it. Besides which, Steve’s first marriage was a disaster. He deserves to have everything right this time.”
    “When you get married,” I said, “you can register for the same pattern. At these prices, we’ll be lucky to own two place settings each, so we’ll share. When we get together for dinner, we’ll pool resources, and maybe there’ll be enough plates for all four of us.”
    "Who said anything about me?” Rita asked.
    “No one needed to. You and Artie—”
    “Well, we’re admittedly heading in that direction, I guess,” she conceded.
    Rita led me through the selection of a china pattern, white with a blue rim. Steve, who’d refused to accompany us, had said that I was welcome to pick out anything that wasn’t covered with flowers.
    “If you ask whether the pattern is available in dog bowls,” Rita warned, “I will kill you here and now.”
    “I hadn’t thought of it until you mentioned it,” I said. We then selected a silver pattern and, over my mild protest, crystal wineglasses. A Bloomie’s salesperson then helped us to choose a variety of affordable objects, including salad forks. Well, she intended to be helpful. Some of her suggestions struck me as ridiculous. Steve wasn’t the kind of person who’d don the chefs hat and apron that were supposedly popular, and he and I both thought of pizza as something to order at a pizzeria, not as something to whip up at home using a pizza set. An object known as a “tart pan” hit me as a wildly inappropriate wedding present. Brides weren’t necessarily virginal these days, but tart was going a bit far. A Wüsthof cutlery set—knives stuck into a wooden storage block—seemed like a practical choice for couples who looked forward to years of marital discord and wanted to be sure to have sharp weapons handy when they moved beyond harsh words.
    When we’d finished completing my nuptial entry blank at the Bloomingdale’s Kennel Club, I thought we were done. Rita thought otherwise. Rowdy and Kimi, I realized, must have the same sensation when forced to return to the show ring for further judging: We just did that! Rita did not, however, lead me into another store with a registry for wedding presents. Rather, she caught sight of a display of black undies