Striking a Bargain

“You'll enjoy it,” Marie promised.

“You said the same thing about eating baking soda,” I reminded her.

Marie rolled her eyes in her usual manner. “We were kids,” she said. “We're well out of the pigtails and getting sent to our rooms stage of life. You can trust me.”

I closed my mouth on my ready retort and thought about it. Since we had reached adulthood, my older sister had less frequently steered me wrong on purpose. In fact, I could trust her on most things. But this...

“I'll hate it,” I said.

“Now you're whining,” she grinned over her cup.

“I don't think you understand,” I argued. “I really hate shoe shopping. It ranks only slightly higher on my personal list of things I enjoy than getting a root canal, and that's only because that one time it abscessed.”

The eyes rolled again. “Please come up with a better excuse than the 'I have the world's hardest-to-fit feet' line. It's getting old.”

“It's not just a line. Look at this foot,” I lifted my foot above the table top. “Double A toes, quadruple A heel. And a size 9. I've got Olive Oyl's feet. Nothing fits. You never had the humiliation of having to try on every shoe in the store – including the boys' shoes – only to walk out with the ugliest pair known to mankind and be stuck with them for the entire school year!”

Marie put down her cup. “This place is different,” she said. “I guarantee you'll find a cute pair.”

“They don't exist in my size,” I huffed.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “How about a trip to the bookstore afterward?”

I thought for a minute. “Only if you're buying.”

word count: 294