How could I still go in? I had no choice really, it was close to dinner time and though I live only two miles from the store, at this hour it takes twenty minutes to traverse and that's if there is no train which, in the infinite wisdom of the town's forefathers, runs down Main Street with no quick way around it.
My sandal had broken when I twisted my ankle getting out of the car. If you are my age, you might have said my "thong" had broken. In my growing up years, we always called them thongs - a slip-on sandal that had a strap between the toes. I'm not sure when the word was usurped to mean a naughty pair of underwear, but I had to school myself to not use the word again. After all, if I told you that I could not go into Walmart because my thong had broken, well, I don't even want to put the image in your head given my age. And, after all, who could see? But clearly, my "flip-flop" was broken and and had no spare. I could not go in barefoot, could I?
I found a piece of old gum in my little trash container and stuck it on the shoe, shoving the strap down into it. My foot held the gum in place. This did not work at all, but I found that if I shuffled this foot forward, like a teenager in (appropriately named) "slides", I could use the band across the top to keep the shoe on. So, in I went, step, slide, step, slide. I pretended I was someone with a foot injury and should I encounter an acquaintance, planned to claim I'd stepped on a nail.
Fortunately, I did not see anyone and quickly grabbed the big $9 plastic container of chili powder, determined to not run out again. The minute I got home, the shoes went in the trash. The chili, however, was a success.