Dressed in God’s own robes, Belly Fell Fell approached the snooty saleswoman in the shoe department. “Now you listen here,” Belly said, in a voice trembling but firm. “You can’t be so rude to people, you know,” she said. “Some people might have to show you just how rude you are.”
The saleswoman took a step back, alarmed. Belly launched into a monologue about dignity, index finger wagging. Belly lectured the woman, her strength fading, for nearly forty minutes. The robes she wore kept her warm and hydrated but her throat got sore all the same. Clearing her throat, Belly concluded, “so that’s why you shouldn’t be so rude.”
The saleswoman came back to her faculties with the slow crawl of a newborn, was horrified to find Belly still there, watching her expectantly, her rant freshly completed. “I can’t help but agree,” the saleswoman said. “You’ve made many valid points today.”
Belly flushed and fled the store, the weight of the robes heavy on her broad frame. She hung it on a doorknob overnight, and that was the last she saw of it. The following day she returned to the store, and bought a vibrant yellow frock without saying a word.