"Daddy you have twelve pairs of shoes that look exactly like that!" Clara exclaimed. She had just finished a hectic full day of second grade. She flashed a pair of sparkly blue leggings, a pleated skirt and a jean vest over her smart t-shirt. Looking like a young Debbie Harry, she meant business.
"Clara," her father Matt said, "I know I have these shoes, but they are not THESE shoes. THESE shoes are brown, while the other twelve I have are black, white, black and white...I have shoes that are similar to these but...but...but...
Matt knew shoes. He knew vintage. He was a man with a mission.
How would he swing it? Clara would surely tell her mother...He knew! He would try and talk down the price.
"Clara" Matt said, "How much is a good price for me to be able to buy these shoes?"
"A dollar Daddy, now let's go!"
The salesgirls chuckled. Matt hung his head low.
"I'll be back when she's in school," he whispered, "they're mine, understand? All mine! They've always been mine!"
As he left the store, Bruce, the tall elegant mannequin winked and whispered "No lovely, they're actually mine"
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