Erotically Charged Shoe Purchase

It's Mother's Day tomorrow and my wife is recently a mother. I had already caved and given her her main present during a particularly long and arduous baby-night (a tiny little camera) so today I struck out for more fish. During our morning walks she had been commenting on a contrast-stitched pair of black sandals in a shop window, so I went and picked them up. The staff and customers at the boutique shoe shop knew that I was ripe for a bit of hard-ladygabbing, and they set about me like the equivalent of horny union jackhammer men.

At the sales counter I stood and inspected the shoes which the attendant had brought from the back. Apparently something about my demeanor told them that I was not buying these womens' sandals for myself, and the wedding band further implied that I was to be treated as a quasi-sexualized medicine ball.

A matronly sexpot draped in purple was the first to act. Through a bit of deft conversation she ascertained that the shoes were not for my mother, but rather for my wife, and this led her to comment that she wished she could find a man like me (I am not actually a very good man, it should be noted). She then commented something to the tune of, "the good ones are all taken."

Feeling relieved from social accountability, I hazarded the old chestnut "either we're taken, or we're gay," to which the sexpot and the shopkeeper (another maritime-ready hull) awarded a chorus of what I will call "pleasant-enough erotisqueals."

These old birds were absolutely professional in allowing the little charge to dissipate throughout the shop, and I was able to leave with gift receipt in hand. Not yet sure whether I will tell Liz that the procurement of her Mother's Day present put me squarely in the company of MI(would-not)LFs.