‘Hello,’ smiles The Little Shopkeeper as I enter his tiny shop. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Oh yes,’ I gleefully cry, ‘for I have come to look at your shoes.’
‘Well,’ he points, ‘the ordinary ones are over here, and the extraordinary ones are out the back – I keep them hidden behind the curtains - but I must warn you, the extraordinary ones are extraordinarily expensive.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, running my finger across the rack of ordinary shoes. ‘Oh it’s no use,’ I eventually sigh, ‘I shall have to see the extraordinary ones!’
‘Very well,’ he claps, disappearing behind the velvet curtain. ‘I’ll be back in a second’
The Little Shopkeeper returns with several boxes. He carefully places them on the floor, gestures me to sit in the purple armchair, and begins to open the boxes one by one.
‘Oh my,’ I exclaim, ‘they really are extraordinary, aren’t they?’
‘Yes,’ he smiles, gently slipping a spectacular shoe on my delicate foot.
‘How much are they?’ I eventually ask; knowing I shall buy them whatever the cost.
The Little Shopkeeper leans slightly forward and whispers the price in my ear.
‘Extraordinary,’ I gasp.
The Little Shopkeeper nods. ‘But they come with special powers.’
‘They do?’
‘They do,’ he whispers. 'They do.'
‘What special powers?’ I ask.
‘Oh forgive me sir, but I cannot tell you,’ he explains. ‘For if I were to tell you before you purchased them – their special powers would be lost. Sorry’
I sit for a moment in the comfortable purple throne and contemplate the cost of such luxuries. The Little Shopkeeper smiles at me. Eventually I smile back at him. ‘I shall take them!’
‘Hurrah,’ cries The Little Shopkeeper, carefully placing my selection back in their box. I hand him my credit card and we head for the till.
‘Now,’ I say, as my purchase is complete and he hands me the bag, ‘what are their special powers?’
‘Oh forgive me dear sir,’ The Little Shopkeeper apologetically sighs, ‘but I cannot tell you until you leave my shop. You must stand with both feet on the pavement outside before I can tell you. Sorry.’
I take the bag and make my way outside. ‘Okay,’ I say, the moment my feet hit the pavement, ‘what are their special powers?’
The Little Shopkeeper smiles with pure delight and cries, ‘they are extraordinary dancing shoes! Whenever you wear them, you shall float on air. Everyone around you shall gasp in wondrous awe, as you dazzle and delight them, with unimaginable moves!’
‘Dancing shoes,’ I sigh despondently - knowing their special powers shall be wasted on me. Imagining the guilt I shall feel each and every New Year's Eve, as I lay in my bed listening to them sob from their unopened box. ‘But no one ever invites me to parties,’ I explain. ‘I am the nobody that nobody ever thinks to invite.’
The Little Shopkeeper, clearly saddened by my tale of social woe, thinks for a moment, and then explains with a tiny tear in his eye, ‘you don’t have to go to a party to dance. You can dance anywhere. You can even dance on your own’.
‘Can you?’ I ask, hoping with all my heart that The Little Shopkeeper isn’t just being kind.
‘Absolutely,’ he insists.
‘What about funerals?’ I quiz, ‘for my beautiful Granny died just a few days ago and she loved to dance. Can I dance at my Granny’s funeral?’
‘Oh yes,’ nods The Little Shopkeeper with tears streaming down his face. ‘You can dance anywhere. Absolutely anywhere. And maybe, if you’re lucky - your beautiful Granny will dance, one final dance with you – before she sets sail for the heavens, and rekindles her love with the people she once knew’
'Oh I do hope so' I sigh, closing The Little Shopkeeper's tiny shop door. 'Oh I do hope so.'
