Mobile Foot-Pillows
The other day, my friend Kristen Oato invited (forced) me to go shopping (chauffeuring) for shoes with her. We headed to the Pismo Beach outlets, hoping the axle on my 1989 Honda Accord would endure the trek.
I found myself in an elegant Nine West shoe store, curiously inspecting pairs of expensive and pointy-toed women's shoes.
Shoe Sales Lady: SIR! Sir, you are damaging that shoe with your girthful feet! That is a women's size 5 hot-pink stiletto, you must unhand it immediately!
Daniel (Wielding the Stiletto Teasingly): Why, there are no men here. Let's not fight amongst us girls, darling. I am madame Gingrasoiselle.
Shoe Sales Lady: Sir, I am going to have to call the police if you continue to manhandle our - Is that rotting fruit I smell?
Daniel (Wielding the Stiletto Fiercely): Back Off, Bitch!
Shoe Sales Lady (Removes her own shoe and hurtles it at Daniel. It narrowly misses his head and strikes a display case behind him, which falls over and buries an unsuspecting young girl in a mountain of shoes): Take that you WENCH!
Daniel (Lowers his shoulder and, charging the woman): Do you have anything in a size "BURN IN HELL!"
(Locked together, clawing at each other's faces and resembling anorexic sumo wrestlers gone berserk, the two move into a display, knocking the limbs off mannequins and toppling others over, and come crashing through the window into the sidewalk)
Kristen: Daniel, how do these look?
Kristen: Daniel?
Kristen: Daniel. Daniel, wake up.
Daniel (sleepily): What, huh? They look lovely. They match your ankles nicely. They compliment your arches. Excuse me.
At this point I walked into a real (man's) shoe store, and bought a lovely pair of authentic minnetonka moccasin slippers. It had something to do with my really sore feet, having hiked bishops early that day, and the moccasins, with their white fluffy insides and sleek leather outsides, having seductively whispered my name as I walked into the store and saw them sitting there, virginal, SCREAMING for me to penetrate them with my battered foot-paws.
I'm going to kick them off and go to bed now. More exciting literary romps to come for all you faithful alaskagrown.net fans (my parents) out there.
G'night.
