We went to a new cafe/clothing shop Coff in Shop for our Tuesday free write. We settled in a corner in arm chairs with two cups of tea on the circular coffee table between. The shop also offers used clothing of a higher quality than any charity shop I've been to in in the UK. The owner, the wife of my real estate guy, is charming.

The prompt came from a novel. It read, "She looked at her feet. "

Rick's Free Write

She looked at her feet.

They weren't that far away on the end of her shortish legs.

She rarely looked at them, except when a toenail snagged on her stockings and she realized they needed to be trimmed. She barely had the strength in her hands to squeeze the clippers together. So they always came out uneven and needed to be filed. 

No, she wouldn't go to the nail salon for a pedicure, yuck, soak your feet in someone else's dirty water! 

It's not that her feet were ugly. They weren't exactly petite, but they weren't fat and fleshy, like Lucinda's, her uni roommate. And hers didn't stink of toejam.

She took a last glance at her forlorn feet before holding up the pregnancy test onto which she'd peed.

Damn!

D-L's Free Write

She looked at her feet.

Yow! They hurt.

Three-inch heels, a too-tight strap across the arch -- what had she been thinking?

OK, so they made her legs look great. They weren't made to walk 10 blocks to meet her sister, who would be jealous and want them.

She should have worn sneakers, arrived early enough to make the switch.

That's what she usually did in case she had to run. That was life in the city. Have an escape route from danger.

The waitress brought her tea. The café was adorable -- arm chair and low, round tables. She chose it so her sister could see her shoes.

Jo Ellen walked up to her.

After the obligatory hug Jo Ellen cooed, "What cute shoes. I've a pair just like them, but I don't wear them. They hurt too much."