Slapp slapp, slapp slapp. Sarah lumbered down the street until she came to the olive plant.
"manufacturer," called Sarah. "manufacturer."
"Yes?" answered the olive man, anticipating a problem with the shoes.
"I heard you slapping down the street. What's wrong?"
"they made my feet into pans, not the casters" sobbed Sarah.
"Oh, thank god," breathed the olive man. "I thought the soles had come unglued." The two sat down and made drawings of the revised pan-shaped design, and an hour later, Sarah tried on her new shoes.
"they're beautiful," admired Sarah, "and they muffle the slapping so well."
"That's the taupe," confided the olive man. "It's such a versatile color."
Sarah smiled radiantly, but just then her smile turned to concern.
"however will i pay you for these lovely shoes?"
"Have you got any ideas for that hollow space in cantaloupe?"
Sarah smiled, slapped her way quietly over to the worried produce man, and whispered:
"got any olives?"
Then she went home, to watch some TV.
