We pull an idea out of a hat and then write for five minutes. Today’s idea: “The man with gold sandals”.
Siham took great pleasure in dressing Fouad. He was a very attractive man. He always had been. but under Siham’s tutelage, under her vision, Fouad really blossomed.
He didn’t have much to say these days – the dementia seemed not just to rob him of his memory but of his voice as well. He smiled a lot, however. It was a gentle smile that only made him more attractive in the eyes of other women. Siham frequently saw women appraising him and would often hear the words “adorable” and “so cute” murmured when the two of them walked through stores. She enjoyed the attention and going shopping for clothes was something she fit into their routine at least three times a week.
Siham decided it twas time to update Fouad’s fall outfits so it was off to Holt Renfrew. Fouad dutifully followed her through the store and stood still as she assertively went through racks, holding up shirts under his chin, squinting. She picked out items quickly, knowing exactly how she wanted to see him: a burgundy sweater vest, a gingham button down shirt, an angora V-neck sweater and tapered black woollen pants. She led him to the dressing room as she always did, not bothering to look behind her.
As she made her way to the back of the store, he had a feeling that she was alone. And she was right.
On the way to the dressing room Fouad saw a display of gladiator style gold sandals. He quickly went over, looked for his size, and was finding the other sandal to try on when Siham spotted him.
Siham called out, “No habibi, we are shopping for fall, summer is nearly over.” Then she came closer and whispered “and those are for women!” Fouad kept smiling at her gently and walked past her into the dressing room. He took off his shoes and socks, rolled up hims pants and tried on the sandals, which fit perfectly. He came out of the dressing room and stood in front of the three-way mirror and started to pose. Siham tried to make eye contact with him. When that failed, she tried to communicate the frustration of what it was like to live with this man to the handful of people who were watching Fouad. But no one looked in her direction. So she looked at Fouad again, who was smiling at the endless reflections of his regal gold sandals.
Myself: No, that’s not right.
Myself: Jesus didn’t. I mean where’s he going to get gold sandals?
Me: Well maybe they were gold colored?
Myself: Mole said GOLD sandals. I’m pretty sure that means that they are made of gold.
Me: Okay that’s stupid, its got to be gold colored sandals.
Myself: No LISTEN, she specifically said “gold sandals”.
Me: So let me get this straight: there’s a man who is wearing sandals that are MADE of gold? Do you know how heavy gold is?
Me: Well, let’s Google it… okay, one ingot is 25 pounds!
Myself: How many ingots in a sandal?
Me: I don’t… look it’s just not practical. I mean even a gold closed toe shoe. I can’t even think why you’d want them. Maybe if you were a famous tap dancer? And even then you couldn’t wear them around, you’d barely be able to lift your feet… maybe it’d be something kind of symbolic to be buried in?
Myself: Yeah that’s something tap dancers do. Hey make sure and have my tappy’s dipped in gold when I die so people at the viewing don’t mistake me for a shitty dancer.
Me: It’s a five minute writing exercise! I’m under a lot of pressure here!
Myself: It’s a pretty much a thirty second writing exercise at this point. You really shouldn’t have Googled the weight of gold.
Me: Fucking gold sandals!