not for sale

There are shops in Paris where nothing is for sale, no matter how hard you beg. I think people get lonely. Their apartments become full, and, rather than rent a storage space, they take over a boutique. Then they sit there in the middle of it, gloating over their fine taste.
-David Sedaris, 'Memento Mori', When You Are Engulfed in Flames

First it was an old copy of the hard-to-find Apartamento magazine. Then it was a pair of antique brass owls. Next came a lone anchor earring which I thought I could turn into a brooch. Following these, came a smaller version of the lovely print Jessica gave me a few years back (the Frou Frou one). Finally it was an unopened Diptyque candle. I have attempted to purchase all of these little things since being in Korea, and every time, the shop owners have kindly told me that they simply weren't for sale. Sometimes this was frustrating to hear (I really wanted those brass owls and that mate-less anchor), but other times I just came to expect it. I suppose it's part of the charm of Korean boutiques - hundreds of stores, each with distinct, wonderful style, full of lovely, covet-worthy knick-knacks (only a portion of which are actually for sale), and store owners sitting right in the midst of it all "gloating over their fine taste." If anything, this tormenting form of show and tell saves me from myself (as I certainly don't need these little odds and ends), and adds a whole new level to the term window shopping.