The store had displayed them on a rack facing the men's department, and the writing on the box and the inside ticket saying they were women's shoes was so small I was unable to read it without getting really close. Of course everybody's athletic shoes look pretty much alike these days, so there were no obvious clues. Still, it was dumb thing for me to have done. I will be more careful in the future. The odd thing is if the men's size 11 and women's size 11 had actually been the same size I'd b waring those shoes right now, and would never have known that I was transgressing an Old Testament rule by wearing a woman's garment. So I guess the sizing discrepancy saved me from being stoned to death in the public square had aliens transported me back in time to ancient Jerusalem. Whatever.
There is slightly good news about the weather, though. We are now predicted to have not three but only two days of 100-degree + temperatures, and the peak on Tuesday will be only 105, not 107. Whoopie!? It still seems unlikely that I'll be able to brave the heat and go to the other store tomorrow or the next day. Friday looks almost good, though, as it is now predicted to only get up to 88. Too bad the stuff I most want to buy will no longer be on sale then.
In the meantime I've got three more packages of quick cooking Asian soups so I can avoid putting extra heat into the kitchen. They were a bit pricier than my usual Top Ramen, but then my diet has been getting a bit boring lately, between the heat and the missing of so many grocery sales in recent weeks. It's worth spending a little bit more money to liven it up a bit. Thank goodness CVS has my favorite beer on sale for the rest of the year, and I can easily walk over there. My brain may fry but at least my throat can stay cool.
The Cool Web
by Robert Graves
Children are dumb to say how hot the day is,
How hot the scent is of the summer rose,
How dreadful the black wastes of evening sky,
How dreadful the tall soldiers drumming by,
But we have speech, to chill the angry day,
And speech, to dull the roses' cruel scent,
We spell away the overhanging night,
We spell away the soldiers and the fright.
There's a cool web of language winds us in,
Retreat from too much joy or too much fear:
We grow sea-green at last and coldly die
In brininess and volubility.
But if we let our tongues lose self-possession,
Throwing off language and its watery clasp
Before our death, instead of when death comes,
Facing the wide glare of the children's day,
Facing the rose, the dark sky and the drums,
We shall go mad, no doubt, and die that way.