After work I meet my mum for shoe shopping and doughnut eating.
The doughnuts are sugar on your finger rings, shared on a bench.
The shoes are shiny patent sandals that make my awkward red rubbed feet look sleek.
At home after getting the seal of approval from my very shoe particular husband, I re-read the label 'Good for the Sole'. I am satisfied that they are.
But the doughnuts are a guilty hole heavy in my tummy which only disappears after a trip to the cool humming gym.
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