12Sunday morning, I dressed for heavy lifting in a long-sleeved charcoal T-shirt, ancient Levis, and a pair of low-top lace up shoes with vent holes on the inside of each arch.
I’d snagged the shoes with Vicky in mind. We Yankees value thrift.
I was proud I’d found a great price for her favorite designer brand.
She pointed out that one maroon capital letter emblazoned on the black velvety outside of each shoe was a D. The second was not a G.
I hadn’t bought Dolce & Gabbana sneakers.
Vicky refused to wear skateboarder shoes.
I’m no skater girl, but the shoes fit me.
The nonslip soles would be perfect for walking around with my arms loaded.
On this sunny morning, I was dressed for moving success.
Standing up at my kitchen counter, I bit into my peanut butter toast. Chewing, I planne
