I really have no clue when, how, or where I came up with this idea. All I know is that, all of a sudden, I was struck with the urge to write after looking sadly down at my sadistically battered, dirt-stained, shabby sneakers.
No, I am not crazy. Really.
And the sky is green!
All Laura McLee wanted that day when she went into that shoe store were the hottest pair of suede work boots to go with that totally in tube top...
"What do you think of these, Mom?" I asked excitedly, dangling a pair of the hottest pair of shoes in front of her eyes. They were suede work boots.
"Those shoes, Laura? Are you sure?" sniffed Mom disdainfully.
"Yes, Mom! They're so cute, aren't they!" Yes! Was Mom actually going to let me get them?
Mom tittered, "Laura McLee! They're work boots, for Pete's sake! Worn to... to work!"
"Those look like cra..." Mom looked as though she dearly wished to take back that sentence. Hm, looked like I was rubbing off on her. "Those are... so expensive, Laura! Just look at them!"
I looked dutifully.
WHAT THE BEEP!? FORTY-SEVEN DOLLARS AND EIGHTY-NINE CENTS!?
Oh, did you know? I say beep when I want to say a "bad word", because of Mother dearest's oh-so-upright upbringing.
And, of course, I must remain appropriate...
"You should know by now, at your mature age, Laura Jeanie McLee, that"- oh no, the middle name- "we are not so well off as to be able to buy shoes at such prices!"
"Oh, come on, Mom, they're so cheap compared to all the others-"
"Laura, why don't we just go to Payless and buy some shoes from there? Lord knows the prices are more merciful."
"But Mom! They don't have any hot shoes there!"
"Laura, what are you talking about? Why, just the other day, I found the most utterly adorable pair of-"
"They were in the baby section!"
"Yes, well, who notices that?"
"Everybody except you!"
"Laura Jeanie McLee-"
"Ahem! Can you hear me?"
Mom and I looked up. Was it just me, or was thata nine-year-old who had just spoken?
"Um... er... well... Giovanne, what am I supposed to say again?"
We heard a muffled voice in the background, which sounded like it belonged to a really old woman.
"Oh! Now I remember! Um, get down on your knees, everybody! I'm stealing all the shoes in this store! What's it called again, Giovanne?"
I stared incredulously back at Mom, who looked like she shared the same sentiments.
"Oh, yeah! Erm... Suede! Yeah, all the employers of Suede, get down on your knees, and DON'T MOVE! Oh, that goes for the people shopping here as well."
Psh, yeah right. What a demented child.
"Hmm? Giovanne, why aren't they listening to me? Hey, what's that missus doing on her cell? Giovanne, make 'em stop!"
For once, it looked like Mom and I had the same idea as we started backing away slowly, edging towards the exit.
"Hmm... where should we go next, Giovanne? How about that chocolate store nearby, what's it called? Oh, that's right! Rosey's Chocolate!"
Suuuure... Was I dreaming? Just for good measure, I pinched myself.
No. Apparently I wasn't dreaming.
It seemed like the obscenely sugar-high nine-year-old felt the need to go on. "And then we'll go to... Alexa's Ice! And then Itchy-witchies, I hear they have the coolest little witch dolls there! And I want to join their voodoo cult! I wonder if that's what the witch dolls were for? Whatever! And then... Jay and Joy's! And then we'll go back home and give Mommy the pretty shoes!"
Oh, God. Why do You hate me?
"Well, thanks for being so nice, everybody! Wow, look at all the pretty shoes - oh! I love these suede work boots that Giovanne let me steal! I think I'll keep them for myself!"
Irony... Okay, this was all just... overwhelming. Yeah. Did that make me sound too much like a faint-er? You know, a person who faints? A lot? Oh, speaking of which, my language arts teacher doesn't want us to say a lot... Apparently, it refers to real estate, not an unspecified but excessive amount of an anonymous noun.
Whatever. I'm already confusing myself enough.
Suddenly, there was the distant and muted sound of sirens, although they got less and less fainter as they approached (well, duh, of course they would). A stout police officer burst through the door, looking very self-important and... wide.
Seriously. He had a beer belly that could rival my dad's, and that was no wimpy feat, let me tell you. I mean, I was surprised sometimes that my dad could fit through the door, much less...
I'd feel sorry for the police officer, if he ever had to go to the theaters and sit in one of those seats, let's just put it that way.
"Ye got tha', Butch? Ar, tha' right! Guh-huh, callin' all 'mergency units fer an unknown amoun' o' time!"
Wow, he had a serious hillbilly accent to rival his beer belly. No offense to people with hillbilly accents or anything... Oh, enough about being politically correct!
"So, ha' any o' ye got 'ny info ter tell?" He turned to us, looking really... disdainful.
"Oh, officer! You come to save us! Ve forever be in you debt, mon amour, monsieur!" spoke up a sales lady with a really heavy French accent.
"No problemo, lady. Just me job, ye know..."
There were practically stars in their eyes. Ew.
The boss had decided to take the initiative.
"Yeah... miss?" The fat police officer looked livid at being interrupted from his... icky fantasies.
"You are a police officer! It is your job, as you so aptly told Ms. Beaumont, to find criminals! Now, this thief has stolen quite a valuable amount from Suede's stock. She had informed us that she has gone to Rosey's Chocolate; what for your ineptness, she might already have escaped without the suitable punishment for such an immoral act!" cried the boss passionately, all the time somehow disdainful of the police officer.
Go her. Female empowerment right there, people.
"A'right, no need ter be mean 'bout it! Yo, Butch!"
"Yeah?" came a man's scratchy voice.
"Secure all chocolate stores in a... half-mile radius."
"Chocolate stores, boss?"
"Ye shut up, boy! I got this from a trusted source, so ye best keep yer mouth shut!"
We gave him a Look.
"Eh, why ye all lookin' at me like that? WHAT!? Yer tellin' me the damn thief's a nine-year-old! Ye gotta be kiddin' an old man, Butch! Yer not? And she just came out o' the southern Rosey's Chocolate nay thirty seconds ago?"
And so, this continued for a while, until the poor nine-year-old was caught at Itchy-witchies, by this Butch guy luring the girl in with a... cinammon bun, of all things.
I want a cinammon bun!
She, now known as Laveda, which is Latin for innocent, apparently (although I don't see how), was sent to juvvie, while her nannie, Giovanne, was, to put it politely, sacked.
Four days later, a curly blond haired, blue-eyed child escaped from the watchful eyes of the counselors at the Detention Facility for Minors.
And a chocolate store got robbed.