Guest Posts: Ted Finchley

Good evening.  I must have been busy this past week. I haven't found a moment to sit down and write.  What have I been doing that's so much more important, you ask?  Well, one evening I got all my ironing (steaming, I have a Shark, not an iron) done.  Other than that, I have no idea.  The week got away from me.


I miss writing.  I miss my pretend audience and their heckling as I type.  However, tonight isn't looking great for time either.  Hawk is cleaning up a neglected kitchen—how it got so messy when we were out every day this past weekend is beyond me—and then I've got dinner to make, a Kijiji date, more kitchen to clean ... you know how it is.


Luckily, this blog is so popular that people have begun vying for guest writing spots.  Tonight, I offer you this post from Ted Finchley, in the hopes it will tide you over until I get back on schedule.


I now present "The Perfect Shoe", by Ted Finchley.  I suspect it is a true story.  I further suspect Ted Finchley is not this person's real name.




The Perfect Shoe


Shopping for shoes with one’s wife can be one of the most boring experiences in a husband’s married lifetime.  But, then again:  a couple of days ago, faithful husband (that’s me, Dick) went shopping with Mrs. Dick for the perfect shoe to go with her brand new little black dress.  Let’s take a look back at the pleasant scene.

Mrs. Dick, fondling a simulated snakeskin number with a three inch heel and with a closed toe and back, approaches the shoe clerk.  Simultaneously, the clerk approaches Mrs. Dick and says, "Take a seat."

Mrs. Dick, as she’s nudged into the chair, starts to hold up her precious find; the clerk grabs it and tosses it aside. 

Says Mrs. Dick:  "I'd like ..." 

Clerk, interrupting:  "A lovely sling-back", as he reaches for a nearby shoe box.

Mrs. Dick:  "Uh...” 

Clerk, again interrupting:  “You'll need blue, of course, to match your jeans."

Mrs. Dick:  “I’m not wearing jeans to a formal gala.  I just want the shoe I was holding a minute ago ...". 

Clerk:  “Let's take a look at your foot.  Ah-h-h.  What a dainty foot, a perfect 7 wide.”

Mrs. Dick:  “No, I take a 6 narrow.”

Clerk:  “Let's slip this classic sling on.  Oh, perfect.  Stand!”

The patient, and obliging, Mrs. Dick stands.  Shoe starts to flop off foot.  “Nicely hides your bunion.  I can recommend a podiatrist.”

Mrs. Dick, now with a touch of impatience in her voice:  “This is a 7 1/2 wide.  I said I take a 6 narrow.  And I don’t want a sling.”

Clerk:  “It's labelled 7 1/2 wide but it's a 6 narrow.” 

Mrs. Dick, in disbelief and a bit loud now:  “I came in here to try on the simulated snake-skin, three inch heel, closed back dress shoe I saw in the window!  Are you deaf, blind or stupid?”

Clerk:  “For sure.  Let me see if I have this sling in alligator.”

The thoughtful clerk grabs a second nearby shoe box.  Pulls out another shoe, a mottled green open-backed mule.

 

Clerk:  “Here we are:  6 narrow in alligator green.  The sling's nice and wide.”

Mrs. Dick:  “That's not a sling.  And it's a 5 1/2 narrow.  And I don’t want a freaking sling!  I can't get my foot into...”.  Her critical communication is disregarded as the clerk crams her foot into the shoe.  The usually cheerful and garrulous Mrs. Dick is now without words, except the rude ones muttered under her breath.

Clerk:  “I'm glad you changed your mind about the colour; the green accents in the alligator  complement your increasingly rosy complexion.  You'll need a handbag.”

Clerk blindly grabs a colourful purse, shoves it into the shoe box and pushes Mrs. Dick in the direction of the cash register.

Mrs. Dick, obviously having had enough, pushes the clerk aside, grabs her own shoe, tosses the green one at the clerk and storms out muttering (to me I guess?) through clenched teeth:  “Why didn’t you do something?”  At this point the devoted husband (that’s still me, Dick) simply answers with a nod and follows, safely, two steps behind his charming wife. 

As for the clerk, looking back I notice a smirk on his face—as if he were thoroughly satisfied with himself and with his excellent contribution leading to our hasty departure.