“I’m going for the gold,” she said.

“That’s nice.” I nodded.

“Or maybe the silver. Do you think I should pick the red instead?”

“I don’t care. Get one purple, and one orange. Whatever. Just pick something. Shoe shopping isn’t an Olympic event.”

She tsk-tsked me. “If it was, we’d have to buy that display case on the other side of the thrift store for all my medals.”

Basketball is a competitive sport. The marathon is a competitive sport. Dancing with swirly ribbons on a floor mat is… I’m not sure about that one. But I know that shopping is NOT a competitive sport. If it was, I’m certain it would be an event in the summer Olympic Games being played in Paris.

She unspooled rolls of receipts.

“You’re not going to do one of those floor exercises with those as your ribbons are you?”

“No, silly,” she said. “I’m going to prove to you this sport.”

“That’s a relief,” I said. “I was afraid you’d break the end table if you tried those flips in the living room. You’re kinda old for somersaults.”

“Keep it up, and I’ll show you that I could medal in judo,” she said. “And if the table gets smashed, it’s 20% off day for seniors. YOU could go buy us a new one.”

“Hardee-har-har.”

“Now look.” She thrust one of the receipts into my hand. “These jeans cost $156 a pair at the retail store. But I found the exact same brand for you at the thrift store for $3.”

“That’s comparison shopping, not competitive.”

“I had to elbow one lady, vault over another shopper and sprint to the rack to get to them first. It was competitive.” She wiped her brow. “Then two rows over, I scored