Weekly Photo Challenge: Home

Tinman’s weekly camera-less attempt at the WordPress Photo Challenge…

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“I’m afraid we don’t have a lot on offer at the moment,” said the Estate Agent.

“Well I have to find somewhere,” said the young widow. “Where I live now is just too small, there isn’t room to swing a cat.”

“Why would you want to?” asked the Estate Agent.

“What else can you do with them?” asked the woman.

“Well, you can talk to them,” said the Estate Agent, “while they give you a look of absolute contempt and then totally ignore you.”

“I have a teenage daughter,” said the woman. “She pretty well has that covered.”

“I thought you liked the place I found for you last time,” said the Estate Agent.

“Well, you did a great job photoshopping it on your computer screen,” said the woman. “You made it look like a snug cottage on the seashore, whereas it’s actually a converted shed on the edge of a cliff. You called it a ‘bijou residence’, and I didn’t realise that ‘bijou’ was a Swahili word meaning ‘the size of a shoebox’.”

Mention of the word ‘shoebox’ reminded the Estate Agent of something. “We do have one property that might suit you,” he said. He brought up an image on his screen and showed it to her.

“There’s something wrong with your photoshopper,” said the woman. “That looks like a shoe.”

“It is a shoe,” said the Estate Agent. “It belongs to a giant. He asked could we let it out for him while he’s away.”

“Where’s he gone?” asked the woman.

“He climbed the giant beanstalk over there,” said the Estate Agent. “He’s gone above the cloud-line for a sun holiday.”

“That’s a dumb idea,” said the woman. “If someone chopped down the beanstalk he’d be screwed.”

“I thought it was dumb too,” said the Estate Agent, “but I decided not to say so, on account of him being a giant. Anyway, what do you think?”

“You want me to live in a shoe?”

“Why not? It’s huge, it would really suit a large family.”

“Well,” admitted the woman, “I do have so many children that I don’t know what to do”(she had three, which, as anyone with children knows, is more than enough to make that sentence true). “But wouldn’t it have drawbacks? For example, wouldn’t it smell of giant foot?”

“Of course not. It’s very well-aired,” said the Estate Agent, “because there isn’t any roof.”

“You really are very good at your job,” said the woman. “You actually managed to make that sound like a Good Thing.”

And he really was good at his job, because half-an-hour later she found that she was the old woman (she was only 38, but the Estate Agent was 25, so to him that was ancient) who lived in a shoe.

And to her surprise she liked it. There was a shoe-horn that her youngest kids could use as a slide, the lace-holes gave plenty of light, and the tongue could be pulled forward like the roof on a convertible when it rained. She found that the shoe fitted her like a glove.

And of course she had a neighbour. After all, no-one has just one shoe. The two shoes were tied by one lace from each (they were semi-detached), and the other was occupied by a widower who also had so many children that he didn’t know what to do (he had two, men aren’t as good at that sort of stuff).

In time they became friends. In the evenings she would hoover the Odor-Eater that acted as a carpet in his shoe, and would then sit on her porch-swing while he vigorously polished the outside of hers.

She liked watching him buff.

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