“Well, sure,” I said. “What else?”
Papa shook his head. “The baby didn’t die. The mother doesn’t want the shoes.” He finished his gin martini and motioned to the barkeep for another.
The fan turned ponderously above our heads.
“But why?” I asked.
“The shoes are a gift from the mother-in-law. You see? There’s a conflict. The women don’t get along. The ad is a knife in the ribs.”
“That’s a lot of iceberg under the water.”
Papa grinned and raised his glass. “Salute!”
I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge: “Memoir” at Thin Spiral Notebook.