"She wears a size 7 shoe?" I asked myself. This just can't be. I wear a size 7. I slip my foot into these cute little shiny black patent things. I'm not sure where they came from. I need to get out the door quickly and these are sitting on the hearth. They do fit, comfortably. But, I know I saw her wearing them to school a couple of days ago. How can they fit her if they fit me? I thought hard and figured it out. I know, they are probably just too big for her, but she's wearing them anyway. Two pair of socks will fix that.

"Do these shoes fit you?" I asked her this evening.

"Yea, why?"

"Cause they fit me. I wore them to work today. Are they big on you?"

"No."

"Let me see." I pulled one off to let her slide her foot into it.

"See, it fits."

I checked the heel area, certain I'd see a big gap, the size of Montana. I looked real hard. There was no gap.

"You wear a 7?"

"No, those are a 6."

I sighed really big. A size 6 means lots of things are still O.K.

After a few minutes, it dawned on me that my feet were in a size 6, and they didn't hurt. I slipped off the left shoe off and flipped it over. A small circle with the number 7 inside of it glared at me.

"Look, these are a size 7!" My shoulders slumped a little. I'm sure that I looked very disappointed. I used to wish my feet were still a tiny size 6. Now, that didn't matter. The fact wouldn't go away.

She wears a size seven. There's really no more to say. The story is over.