My husband, Ken, is getting ready for work and I'm watching one of the cable news networks. President Obama is saying,

"We need more spending to get the economy moving."

It's a call to action.

"I'll help!" I shout to the TV screen.

"Help with what?" Ken hollers from the bathroom.

"The nation's economy!"

"Good," he says, his mouth full of toothbrush. "We need it."

I've always believed that one person can make a difference. And I recently read a study that found it takes only five people to start a "wave" in a football stadium with 50,000 fans. I am ready to do my part (and it doesn't hurt that there's a sale at the mall).

I get dressed and pull on my walking shoes. Armed with my debit card, credit card, and a little cash, I head to the stores. I get there when they open. There are just a few other patriotic people in the parking lot. But together, we can have an influence in the metaphorical football stadium of America's recession.

I start in Sportswear at the department store on one end of the mall. Clearance signs adorn racks of refugee sweaters no one wants. I move on to racks of new spring styles. Not much has come in yet. The racks are in desperate need of reinforcements. Besides, it's still too chilly to think about spring frocks.

But I am on a mission. What can I buy? In Housewares, I look at everyday dishes. A brightly colored pattern catches my eye, but I don't like the bowls that come with the set. Other patterns are too plain or too fancy. A bit disappointed, I leave the store. But, like a good soldier, I keep my chin up.
The day is young, I tell myself.

I march out into the mall and spot a bookstore, where I browse among bargain books, bestsellers, and new releases. Nothing cries out, "Read me!"

Under my breath, I say to myself, "My fellow Americans are counting on me." I walk the length of the mall. I don't need vitamins, shoes, or a diamond bracelet. With no family birthdays approaching, I bypass Gap Kids and the Disney Store. I already have a cell phone. I don't need sunglasses.
I reach the department store at the other end of the mall and realize I need a war plan. Where's General Petraeus when I really need him?

Then it strikes me: Linens! Our bedroom has a shabby, un-chic look created by a wet dog with perpetually muddy paws who likes to sleep on the bed. How about a new comforter ensemble? As I ride the escalator up to the bedding section, I conduct aerial surveillance of the ground floor in case I need to retreat.

On the way to Linens, I maneuver through Luggage, but we have no plans for a vacation deployment. Finally, among the bedding, I look at every comforter and sheet set, from cheap to pricey. But the global color scheme has changed since I decorated my home. My cayenne reds and saffron golds clash with the greens and purples on the shelves. I want to do my duty, but I don't want to paint my walls.

I drag my purse like a useless musket and shuffle past displays of blankets, pillows, shower curtains, and towels. Nothing I want to buy.

Then I spot it! Camouflaged under a stockpile of bath mats is a gold bathroom rug. I can use a new one. And it's marked 50 percent off!

I hand over my money and listen with satisfaction to the whirring and clicking sounds of the cash register drawer opening. A single shot fired in the economic war. But, combined with shots fired by other customers in other stores across the land, it may make a difference.

Battle weary but triumphant, I head home. Ken meets me at the door.

"Where do you want me to put all this?" he asks with astonishment, taking my solitary bag and looking inside.

"You've really outdone yourself this time."

"I know," I say. "It's the least I can do for my country."

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