For our wedding, one of our favorite relatives gave us a Tiffany vase (bowl?) big enough to swim in. I hid it under the bed, figuring I could use it as a weapon in case anyone broke in.

“Why don’t we just return it?” I said after a few weeks of burgle-free living. “We’re not going to use it and it’s probably worth a fortune.”

It was. But because it was a gift, we got a Tiffany gift card in return instead of cash. We had been saving the largesse for the right occasion. Emmeline’s first Christmas fit the bill.

The Tiffany store sparkled with silver and crystal, and shoppers moved somewhat slower — hushed by the gleaming cases of jewels. The elevator doors were etched with diamond outlines. I wanted to let Emme practice her newfound crawling skills on the floor, but I was afraid she’d knock over the $54,000 silver menorah in the corner. So we left in the stroller while Dana and I perused the shop for the perfect first Christmas gift. In the end, we left with so, so much more — a playground confidential. Tiffany style.

We decided to buy Emme her first place setting — a china set with flowers and bunnies and other things hopping about on the delicate pottery. We were looking at all the baby finery, when a well-to-do appearing woman ambled up to the case beside up. She asked the clerk for a silver teething ring and a silver rattle. I was busy studying the china patterns while restraining Emme, so I didn’t see the woman’s face when she turned to Dana and said, “Don’t you just think all babies should teeth on Tiffany silver?”

I choked and gagged and tried my very best to contain myself, pretending Emme had made me laugh.

After an hour or so, we finally left the store and I turned to Dana. “Could you believe that lady? I mean, really: I think alll babies should teeth on Tiffany.” For some reason it sounded so much better when offered in a rarified English accent, which grew more and more pronounced each time I said it.

Dana believes the woman was joking. “You didn’t see her face — she was smiling the whole time!”

“Smiling like Mr. Burns?”

“No, just smiling. She was j-o-k-i-n-g.”

But I didn’t think so. It sounded too perfect, too real. Besides, she ended up buying the silver baubles in the end. If she was joking, she would have left them behind. Instead, she headed home, eager to replace a silver spoon, I suppose, with a silver rattle. Dana pointed out that we left with our own baby Tiffany gifts, but I didn’t think it was the same. It’s easier to laugh at others.