I went into the shopping mall to buy a pair of shoes
I knew just what I wanted so I thought it would be quick;
I must have tried a hundred pairs, but nary a one to choose:
some were too wide and some too narrow, some too stiff and thick,
some only came in one size larger, others were too small,
some weren’t exactly quite the shade of blue I had in mind,
some rubbed against my bunions – no, that wouldn’t do at all!
The perfect pair of shoes was just impossible to find.
But on the way I did acquire two pretty blouses that
I told myself I needed, and four walking poles that I
and my man can use for hiking, and a wide-brimmed summer hat
and several other “useful” things I hadn’t meant to buy.
After three hours, when my feet had started to protest
I found the perfect . . . sales-assistant, born to end my blues:
she was patient and polite, she knew which sort would suit me best
and brought me each in different sizes and in several hues.
So having looked for just one pair, I ended up with two:
a pair of summer sandals much too comfy to refuse
and the lightweight ones I’d shopped for – in black though, not in blue,
still, what’s a change of colour when you find the perfect shoes?
But now I fear my bank account’s changed colour – black to red
and I swear I’ll never shop again till winter lies ahead!