A holster?

A holster, like…for a gun?

“Oh,” I say, discomfited. “Right! A holster. Wow. That’s…um…gorgeous. The only tiny thing is…” I cough, feeling embarrassed. “I don’t have a gun.”

“You don’t got no weapon?” She seems staggered by this news.

Now I feel totally wussy. I’ve never even held a gun, let alone considered owning one. But maybe I should have more of an open mind. I mean, it’s the way out here in the West, isn’t it? You have your hat, you have your boots, you have your gun. Probably girls in the West walk around town and eye one another’s guns up the way I eye up Hermès bags.

“I don’t have a weapon right now,” I amend. “Not exactly on me. But when I do, I’ll come and get a holster.”

As I’m walking away, I wonder if I should quickly have shooting lessons and get a firearms license and buy a Gluck. Or do I mean Glock? Or a Smith and Whatsit. I don’t even know which the coolest one is. They should have Vogue for guns.

I head toward the next stall, where the skinny girl I noticed before is filling up her second basket.

“Hey,” she says pleasantly, glancing up at me. “These shawls are all fifty percent off.”

“Some are seventy-five percent off,” chimes in the stall owner. She has a graying braid with ribbons wound around it, which looks stunning. “I’m doing a big clear-out.”

“Wow.” I pick up one of the shawls and shake it out. It’s really soft wool, with beautiful embroidered birds, and is an amazing value.

“I’m getting two each for my mom and me,” the skinny girl says in chatty tones. “And you should check out the belts.” She gestures at a neighboring stall. “I’m, like, you can never have too many belts.”

“Totally,” I agree. “Belts are a staple.”

“Right?” She nods enthusiastically. “Can I have another basket?” she adds to the stall owner. “And do you take Amex?”

While the stall owner is getting out her credit-card machine, I pick up a couple of shawls. But it’s strange. Maybe I’m not in a shawl mood or something, because even though I can see how gorgeous they are, I don’t feel like buying them. It’s as if I’m looking at some trolley full of delicious desserts but I’ve lost my appetite.

So instead I head over to the belt stall and have a look at those.

I mean, they’re really well made. The buckles are nice and heavy, and they’re in some good colors. I can’t spot a single thing wrong with them. I just don’t feel like buying them. In fact, the thought makes me feel a bit ill. Which is weird.

The skinny girl has lined up five baskets of stuff and is scrabbling in her Michael Kors bag. “I was sure that credit card was OK,” she says fretfully. “Let me try another one…oh, shoot!” She drops her bag on the floor and bends down to pick up all her stuff. I’m about to help her, when I hear my name.