Four pairs of shoes

In America, my dad bought four pairs of shoes – two for himself and two for my mum.

He thought that would be surpise souvenirs for her.

He was expecting to see her big smile because he knew she wanted to have a pair of tennis shoes.

But, he didn’t know her shoe size. What happened to him was that he bought the smallest ones.

“June, two pairs of shoes for you,” he said and went on, hesitatingly: “Er … two for me as well.”

“Two pairs for me? Why?”

“Mmm, they are different – tennis shoes and jogging shoes.”

“Thank you! Er, well, they look a bit small for me. I’m petite, but …”

“I didn’t know your shoe size.”

“Hmmm, you should’ve asked me by email or line.”

“Ah, I’ve never though of it.”

So, well, to cut a long story short, she loosened the shoestrings as much as possible, tried to wear, and said: “Ah, not bad! It should be alright. And, er, that blue pair, it’s good for cycling, I think. My trainers are worn out. Look! I’ll throw them away.”

“I thought so.”

‘Good! That’s all settled,’ I murmured.