The first part of the list directed her to purchase gifts for two girls, ages six and seven. The younger girl had requested a doll. Having raised three daughters, Sarah knew that every little girl loved Barbie. This late in the season, she’d be fortunate to find the current Barbie.

Almost right away she saw that the supplies were depleted, just as she’d suspected. But one lone Firefighter Barbie stood on the once-crowded shelf. Sarah reached for it at the precise moment someone else did.

“I believe I was first,” she insisted. Far be it from her to allow some other person to deprive a poor little girl longing for a Barbie on Christmas morning.

“I believe you’re wrong.”

Mary Sutton. Sarah glared at her with such intensity that Mary must have realized she was not about to be dissuaded.

“Fine,” Mary said after a moment and released her death grip on the Barbie.

“Thank you.” Sarah could be gracious when called upon.

With her nose so high in the air she was in danger of hitting a light fixture, Mary stomped off in the opposite direction. Feeling satisfied with herself, Sarah studied the list again and noticed the name of a three-year-old boy. A small riding toy would do nicely, she decided and headed for that section of the department.

As she turned the corner she ran into Mary Sutton a third time. Mary stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowed. “Are you following me?” she demanded.

“Following you?” Sarah faked a short, derisive laugh. “You’ve got to be joking. I have no desire to be within ten feet of you.”

“Then I suggest you vacate this aisle.”

“You can’t tell me where to shop or in what aisle!”

“Wanna bet?” Mary leaned forward and, intentionally or not, her cart rammed Sarah’s.

Refusing to allow such an outrage to go unanswered, Sarah retaliated by banging her cart into Mary’s.

Mary pulled back and hit her again, harder this time.

Soon they were throwing stuffed French poodles at each other, hurling them off the shelves. A German Shepherd sailed over Sarah’s head. That was when she reached for the Golden Retriever, the largest of the stuffed animals.

“Ladies, ladies.” A man in a red jacket hurried toward them, his arms outstretched. His name badge read Michael and identified him as the store manager.

“I’m so sorry, Michael,” Sarah said, pretending to recognize him. “This little, uh, misunderstanding got completely out of hand.”

“You’re telling me!” Mary yelled.

“This woman is following me.”

“Oh, puh-leeze.” Mary groaned audibly. “This woman followed me.”

“I don’t think it’s important to know who followed whom,” the manager said in a conciliatory voice. “But we need to—”