The gaggle of hyperactive boys swarmed the shoe display. Roundface growling dad was trying to find something for worn out pudgy mom, as the brothers romped and pulled and asked stupid questions. It was amazing how much room the six of them could take up.
I stood back, looking at the selection, but dad eyed me with a squint. I didn’t go away, and eventually he decided to cede the ground, anouncing he was tired, marching out with an ape kind of sway and denying mom shoes.
I passed them again in the department store. One of the kids eyed me, and snarled out “look! must be looking for a dress to go with them shoes.”
Dad growled. Apparently I had been a subject of discussion.
As it happens, I was in boy clothes.
If I’m going to feed the fears of the yokels, well, then, maybe I should just wear what I want anyway.