Forty? Fifty? Yeah, something like that. I neglected to count the number of shoe racks in the clearance center, but it was a big number. Each rack was at least six feet wide, with seven or eight shelves.
And each shelf was full of shoes. Full.
Shoes, shoes, everywhere, nor any pair to wear.
Well, maybe one pair to wear. But I can’t help contrasting the bulk of the shoes on offer here with the shoes in my front hall. Four pairs of shoes that have somehow sufficed for four months: all activities, in all possible weather. And I wouldn’t even claim to be a shoe-minimalist.
Isabel, I wonder if you are not secretly longing for some sparkly red shoes….?! Go for it! And now I am wondering if “not” is grammatically correct, or not.
Marilyn – Hmm. I think it works both ways. I might like the sparkles but not the spikes. I would quickly break at least an ankle.
“sparkly red shoes” so she can click her heels together?
Barry – As we slog across southern Arizona and look forward to 1 1/2 days crossing Texas, sparkly red shoes sound like a great idea.
I was sure there must be a face in among all those shoes, but the closest I could come to a face was a pair of sunglasses (2nd from left, bottom row).
JimT
Jim – LOL I wasn’t looking for faces. Now I’ll have to go back the next time we’re in Phoenix.
I’m reading a post-pandemic novel right now. (99% of humans die along with their expertise & sheer manpower to keep the necessities, like energy of all kinds, medicine, etc. available.) The few people left have to contend with brigands & evil prophets on the roads and must scrounge for everything — not longer “looting” — and would have swooned at the sight of all these shoes. Looking up from the book, I am rich beyond measure…just having toilet paper and an orange.
Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel
Barbara – Yeah, they represent wealth of a sort but would seem annoyingly inappropriate in a post-apocalypse world. But I know that I would die quickly in a societal breakdown because I have no useful skills.