Ooh, she’s so irritating, Miucha thought, in a foul mood as she worked on a piece of fine stitching for the shoes.
The things Nami had said stuck in her craw like a sewing needle, and refused to come loose. It frustrated her that she had no good answer. The more she thought about the interaction, the angrier she got.
“What makes her think she can speak that way to someone she’s never met before?” she grumbled. It was infuriating to Miucha that she was at that moment working on shoes for her. Her first chance in ages to make a pair of fine, well-crafted shoes, and she couldn’t even enjoy the process.
“‘Doesn’t it hurt?’ she asks! She doesn’t know the first thing about my life. Ugh!”
Of course it hurt. But she put up with it, because she was an adult and she had to.
It was fine and good for Nami to have high ideals—she’d been born pretty, had a great body, and had surely had everything in life handed to her. She’d probably been doted upon as a child, and been given everything she ever wanted. People like her had no idea about the challenges that normal people went through, the patience they had to have when times were tough. People like her foolishly thought they understood everyone’s business, and spoke in meaningless platitudes.
Normal people were never allowed to return Lebno’s shoes, and normal people didn’t get asked to model on the runway for him. They just put up with their painful shoes as they walked between work and home. Sometimes you had to give something up to get what you wanted. Sometimes that meant making shoes you weren’t proud of. Or playing nice with a lover who would never commit. Nobody had the right to criticize a person for the sacrifices they made.
I put up with so much BS over the years just to get to where I am, thought Miucha.
“Arrgh! I hate this!” she blurted out.
She needed to stay focused to finish the difficult work, but her concentration was shot. Still, she was a professional, and she managed to get the shoes done in time.
The result: beautiful bright-red pumps with four-inch heels. Simple, square buckles in the center of each strap held the shoes on at the ankle. It was fairly commonplace, as such things went, but that classic look never went out of style, and Nami’s slender ankles would show it off perfectly.
They were distinctive, haute couture heels just for Nami. Miucha had to admit she’d done a good job making them, as frustrating as it had been. She’d become accustomed to churning out pair after pair of awful, cheap shoes, and it was good to know that her skills were still intact. These shoes would hold up, no matter how much Nami ran and jumped.
“Those are some nice shoes,” she muttered, tracing the beadwork with a fingertip and admiring her own craft.
These were the kind of shoes she’d gotten into this business to create. But that had been a long time ago. In just a few hours, the shoes would be Nami’s to show off.