It was more of an “Ough” than an “Oh” – like an “Oh” with a grunt – and the sound came from a man on the other side of the high shoe rack in the ladies shoe section in Kmart at Wynnum Plaza today.
“Ough, ough, ough, ough,” came the rhythmic grunting cries.
“What on Earth is going on?” I wondered silently inside my head. “What could be so agonising… or rapturous?”
I continued to ponder while the grunting continued ominously out of sight. I wondered if he, like Cinderella’s ugly sisters, was trying to force a big ugly foot into a dainty shoe? Could he not express himself any better? Perhaps he was one of the party of twelve or so Eastern Europeans who had, a minute earlier, barged noisily through the ladies shoe department. An old lady in a pretty floral sun-frock caught my eye, smiled mischievously and rolled her eyes as she walked by me.
The “Ough, ough, oughs,” abated at last and I was able to concentrate on the matter in hand – finding the bargains in the ladies sandals section. I was drawn immediately to the pairs of silver sandals with the platform soles (reminiscent of the good old days in the nineteen- seventies) which were reduced from twenty dollars to seven dollars; the white ones in the same style (my preference) were at the original price and beside them were some other, prettier sandals with a band around the ankle. I tried on the latter and a tall Chinese girl with a nice smile looked on.
“I think you’ll slip forward in those and they’ll flap uncomfortably at the back,” she said thoughtfully in an Australian accent.
“I believe you’re right,” I agreed, and I replaced them with the cheap silver sandals, “Now what about these? Do they look peculiar? Are they a funny colour?”
“Are they comfortable?”, she replied, “they look comfortable.”
“And you won’t fall over in them with those chunky soles, not like stilettos,” said a red-haired lady who had joined us.”
“And they won’t penetrate the grass like tent pegs,” I quipped.
“Listen, for that price, Darl’, you can’t go wrong,” she continued, “and you could wear them to fancy dress parties.”
“So then you do think they are a funny colour?” I queried.
“No, no… not really,” the Chinese girl and the redhead said together.
“I could paint flowers on them,” I suggested.
“You can’t go wrong,” they both agreed.
“Well why don’t you buy them if they’re so good?” I asked.
“I’m only looking for a pair of shoes for a funeral, but I’ll make do with my ones at home,” the lady laughed, tossed her curly red hair and waved her goodbye.
“What do you think of these?” asked the Chinese girl showing me the white peep-toe shoes she had tried on.
“Rather nice and smart,” I answered, “they look good on you.”
“My friends and family always used to call me ‘Dinosaur’,” she said.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because I’m so tall and my feet are so big!”
“But your feet aren’t quite as big as mine and you’re nice and slim,” I cajoled.
“Yes but they are all only this high,” she raised her hand to shoulder height, “and they all have feet like Cinderella.”
We laughed. Dinosaur replaced the white peep-toe shoes with black ones of the same style.
“Do you think these are better?”
“How much are they?” I inquired.
“Twenty dollars.”
“And how much are the white ones?” I asked (realising, of course, that Kmart have no qualms about colour discrimination when it comes to pricing shoes).
“Seven dollars,” Dinosaur smiled sheepishly. “Okay, thanks for your help!”
I bought the retro seven-dollar fancy-dress silver platform shoes that nobody else wanted, and I will paint them; and ough, everyone will like them then. Ough, I never found out what all that noise was about. And ough, tonight I am house and cat sitting for Jan and Neil at Birkdale, near Wellington Point (where we spent many a happy day in my childhood). But more about that tomorrough….
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