shoes our dancing daughters

Karen says: “I think you're going to like these.” I'm all: “Like them, are you kidding? You're Joan Crawford in Our Dancing Daughters. You're Ginger Rogers gliding across a silken dance floor in Fred's arms.” Quick, I've got to get my top hat and tux. A few hours later, Karen limps into my office, wailing, and gnashing her teeth. “They're pinching my toes,” she sobs, “I tried moleskin. I tried everything. I have to return them.” Oh, the tragedy. Oh, the injustice. Like a soldier fighting a rearguard action, Karen courageously marches back to Loehmann's.