Two Left Feet

This time it's not Tony's kind of dancing I am describing. It's my kind of shopping. I have totally lost touch or control.

I was in a building in The Fort for a meeting with client. I was too early, and one of my friends excitedly nudged me, "Grace, there is a Nike sale on the 10th floor, all at 70% discount! If you're interested, I could take you there."

She took me there.

Sure, I needed another pair of rubber shoes for my morning walk. The five pairs I already have are not enough, are they?

The whole room was filled with heaps of shoe boxes. Unfortunately, or fortunately, every single pair in my size had been snapped up hours before!

So I walked over to the male slippers. My boys, I thought, would thank me for thinking of them. I didn't know their sizes, but did it matter? I bought two pairs.

I was very happy with my purchases—a steal, they were. So when I got home, I opened the boxes with flourish—ta da!

"Mom, this is perfect for Goliath!" It was four sizes too big.

And the second pair? "Mom, these are for two left feet!"

"What?!"

There may be a lesson being taught here (?)

Grace stepped in.

I went back to the Nike's offices days later with my two boxes of slippers. The receptionist, with perfect customer-service smile, said. "No problem, ma'am. Please wait here."

In less than a minute, she came back with two perfect pairs of slippers in perfect sizes. "If you have any more problems ma'am, please come back within four days while the sale is still ongoing."

"I won't be back," I promised. I won't be back to any sale again, I wished.