This is a story about me. I warn you, it is not interesting.
Even I have lost any interest in it. Yet I'm going to tell
it, simply because I can think of nothing better to do right
now.

The story begins this morning, in the drawer of my closet.
The second drawer from the left, to be exact - the sox's
drawer. I opened it and searched for the right pair to put
on. I couldn't find me a pair of sox, though. I'm not the
dolled up kind of guy. Don't mistake me for that. I'm not
the kind of guy who stands in front of a closet full of
white shirts and can't pick the right one to put on. Oh, not
me. In fact, the only reason I couldn't find the right pair
of sox, was that they were all torn. See, I never did pay
any attention to sox. Like underwear, sox's place is
underneath other items of clothing - they are unseen. Thus,
I had allowed myself to wear them torn, and sometimes not
even wear them at all.

However, on this very special day, I needed to wear good
sox, as I was going to show off my shoeless feet. On that
very special day, today, I was going to buy me a pair of
shoes. Those were a fine pair of brown leather shoes, and in
order to buy them, I had to try them on, to see if they fit.
Though I was sure they fit. I have a good eye with shoes.
However, I HAD to feel them on my feet and see how they
look, and I couldn't wait till I get back home to do so. In
order to do so, I had to take off my old shoes, and expose
me shoeless feet. For this purpose, I needed a good pair of
sox.

I searched and searched, went through almost all of the sox
in the drawer, but all were worn out. Of course, I could go
and buy me a pair of sox, wear them, and then go to buy my
shoes. However, today was a day I've been waiting long
enough for. And so, I couldn't see myself postponing the
purchase of these shoes any longer than what was absolutely
necessary. I therefore decided to wear sandals.

The street was cold. I was wearing my wool set of hat, scarf
and gloves, and, of course, my wool coat. But my feet were
freezing in them sandals. By passers gave me the looks
people give to those who are not okay in their heads. I
ignored them. It was my special day and I wasn't going to
let anyone bring me down. I decided to make a short cut
through the garden. That way I will also be able to avoid
meeting people I know, looking like this.

The truth was that I didn't really need to buy shoes. My old
shoes were a bit worn out, but still in a very good shape. I
liked my old shoes. However, today was my birthday, and I
couldn't think of anything to buy me other than shoes.

I knew I was finally going to get me my birthday shoes, and
couldn't stop thinking about them. I memorized the brown
soft looking leather, the smooth strap, the flexible shoe
soles. Those were a fine pair of shoes, I tell ya.

I got so carried away thinking over my longed for pair of
shoes, that I didn't even mind my steps. I stumbled, and
almost fell as I slipped over a tiny brown hill. I leaned
forward and checked the sole of the right sandal. It was all
smeared with the brownish porridge. 'Shit!' I muttered, 'dog
shit!'

I looked around, and saw the green grass behind the benches.
There was old Henya sitting on of the benches. She was
knitting a sweater or something. Only God knows what was it
that she knitted and for whom, for as far as I could tell,
she had no grandchildren. Her only son had died in the war;
in one of them (I don't remember which). Of course, only
Henya could be knitting outside in that weather! Henya was
not okay in the head. She looked at me and smiled a childish
smile. I smiled back and kept wiping the shit off my sandal.

'You make dirt on the snow' she said.
I ignored her. It was cold, but it didn't snow. Fortunately,
the grass was wet. It helped me a lot. It made my toes even
more frozen, thought, like little ice cubes attached to the
feet. But it worked. When I checked my sandal sole again, it
was in its natural color, except for the little cracks that
were still filled with shit. There was nothing more I could
do about it. I kept walking.

Shaken with cold, I reached Braham's Shoe Store. I smiled
when I saw them. Three hundred and seventy four NIS. I had
four hundred NIS ready in the left inner pocket of my
jacket, enough to buy these shoes AND a new pair of sox.
They were fine and elegant, just like the first time I saw
them, in this very display window. Week after week, as I
went to check my P.O. Box and shop at the market, I saw
them. Those were three months now. Three months, and they
haven't even changed the display window. They made minor
changes, like adding another pair of boots, and taking off
some female sandals, but my shoes remained in their place,
waiting for me. For two and a half months I was saving from
the money I got from my pension allowance to buy these
shoes. 'It would be my gift for my birthday', I decided.

I went in. There were two sellers in there; one was busy
with an old lady who tried on every possible sandal in the
shop, and the other was helping a young man in picking the
right and less expensive pair of shoes, at the commend of
the young man's father who stood next to him, guarding. It
was a small shop. So small that the two and a half customers
inside it made it feel hectic inside. Shoe boxes were all
around, blocking every good spot of free space. The boxes
even covered some of the benches. I picked up a tower of
shoe boxes in order to free a bench for me to sit. The tower
or boxes collapsed from my hands onto the floor. It made me
feel somewhat awkward, yet drew the attention of one of the
salesmen, and therefore, I didn't regret it.

He left the lady to try on some shoes and helped me out. His
nose twitched a little as he drew too close to me, so he
took a step away. The damn dog shit wasn't all gone. I
showed him on my pair of birthday shoes in the display
window. He took the white pair in his hand, then the black
boots, then a pair of red ladies sandals, till, eventually,
he found the shoes I was talking about.
'What size?'
'Forty two'

And off he went. I sat on the bench for a long quarter of an
hour, waiting. Eventually, he came back with two boxes of
shoes. I didn't understand why he brought two boxes. I had
specified the color, the brand and the size. There were no
two ways about it. So why two boxes?
'Well, I have these in brown, or those in black. They're
very elegant' he said.
I looked into the boxes. There was a fine elegant black pair
of shoes in one of them. On the other there was a brown
pair, fair, but less pretty.
'Those are not the shoes I asked for' I said.
'I know. We don't have those, but if you try these on...'
'You don't have those?!'
'Well, we have them in size forty. Would you like to...'
'Size forty? I'm size forty two!'
'I know. You told me. That's why I brought these...'
'Well, I don't want these. I want my shoes! And if you don't
have my shoes in size forty two, don't put them on the
display window!'

The embarrassed shoes seller muttered a couple of vowels for
excuses, till the old lady drew his attention back and he
fled. The truth was that I shouldn't have been too hard on
this guy. After all, he didn't OWN the store. He was just a
shoe seller. He'd have taken the damn pair of shoes off the
display window if his boss would ASK him to. The truth was
that it wouldn't even matter if they'd taken them off the
display window. I'd still be mad if they weren't there.
Those were my shoes! My birthday shoes! I saved that money
for almost three months, giving up apples, and yogurt, and
most of my cigarettes. I had respectfully EARNED the right
to purchase the damn shoes.

Pissed and frustrated, I went out of the damn shoes store,
and didn't even buy sox. It rained on my way back, but I
didn't mind. I was glad that I stepped on the dog shit
earlier. I was glad if I left some dog shit smell in the
damn store.

It's my seventy third birthday today. I'm seventy three
years old, and I'm sitting on my rocking chair, staring at
the white wall. I'll be seventy four years old next year. I
don't really care. It's not interesting. I told you so.