Lydia’s all het up these days about those godawful furry boots that are in fashion this winter. It would seem that everybody she knows has a pair and it’s just so unfair that she’s been made to do without. I have refused to buy them for her because I don’t think they’re very practical for winter wear, and besides, she has a perfectly good pair of brand-new snow boots that she picked out herself earlier this year.

Those boots are all she has talked about for a couple of weeks now, and my patience on the matter is wearing very thin. Today we went to the big Christmas market in town and there was much wailing and gnashing of the teeth on her part when she realized there were no furry shoes there (why she had imagined there would be I have no idea). Everywhere she looked there was another person wearing those accursed furry boots, and I had to hear about each and every pair she saw. Little girls were wearing them, teenagers were wearing them, even “old ladies” were wearing them. The outrage! The injustice!

Later when we went to the local superstore, she went looking at shoes while we shopped for groceries and she found a pair she wanted. They were marked down to a price she could afford with one month’s allowance, so I agreed to go with her to look at them. More wailing ensued when we discovered that there were none left in her size, and she had a few choice words for me when I told her that “I can get my feet into these” is not the same as “these shoes fit me.” She begged and pleaded, but I stood firm and did not buy the boots. The sturm und drang continued and she was quite overwrought within a matter of minutes. We went to the store’s café for fika after we paid for our groceries and she just sat in her chair crying and wailing. I consoled her the best I could, but nothing worked. She was on the verge of making a scene (we were already getting a few stares from other customers), and I finally had to speak sharply to her.

After we were done eating, we went to another store to browze around a bit, and Lydia recovered enough to get into the shopping spirit. Or so it seemed. She brought a big, bright ornament to show me and I said, “Oh, isn’t that pretty?”

She heaved a dejected sigh and said, “Not as pretty as furry shoes,” then trudged away to wallow just a little more in her misery.