Conversation in a shoe store

After going outside this morning to discover I had killed yet another plant, my mood had taken a nose-dive. I’d stared at the pot’s browning, leafless contents and decided that I needed chocolate.

Three Tim Tams and a Caramel Koala later, the pot still haunted me and my guilty, inadequate conscience decided that immediate retail therapy was the only salve.


Like a shining beacon of hope, the shoes on the top shelf immediately called to me. I knew there were better options for winter but, well, they were sparkly. I reached for them, but the salesperson came tutting over, hands on hips, pout on lips.

“They’re already sold, my dear,” he said, plucking them from my grasp and returning them to the shelf.

“Then why are they on display? Just to tease passers-by?”

“I have a mean streak, what can I say?”

I huffed. “Any others like that?”

“That’s the last of the summer stock.”

“People have heating, you know.”

“I’m so sorry. Maybe,” he said, looking me up and down and taking in my chocolate stain, fleecy trackies and blotchy makeup. “Try Pay-less?”

“There’s that mean streak.”

I scanned the shelves anyway and clocked a pair that may do at a pinch. But then, I didn’t need shoes badly enough to support snobbery, did I? It was really the principle of the thing. A dilemma, but one that was solved by the appearance of a large woman who carelessly took the sparkly ones off the shelf. She managed to miss brushing them with the large moustache that was paying homage to her cavernous nostrils.

“I showed the photo to my daughter as you suggested,” she said, examining them like they were rotting garbage. “She would prefer a classier pair. She says these look cheap. She’s right, of course.”

She pushed them firmly into the salesman’s chest and continued to browse, nose in the air. Maybe she could get more oxygen that way.

The salesman stared vacantly after her.

“I’ll take those, thank you,” I said, easing them from his grip.

He nodded with only the slightest twitch of the cheek.

I swiped my card through the machine and thought about how I better stop impulse-buying if I ever wanted to pay off my credit card. On the upside, buying shoes and getting one-up on Mr Uppity had done wonders for my confidence, so I was locked and loaded for the day. All I had to do was figure out where to aim.

Not at the herb garden, that’s for sure.

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