i’m trying to buy some shoes–sandals cool enough for Paris, but sturdy enough for walking in Paris–and in my dream last night I found myself in a shoe store. my father had bought me a gift card for $188.32. he’d remembered i liked the shoes at this particular place, but he didn’t realize that it had changed ownership and swapped out its BCBG Girls stock for nurse’s shoes, clarks, and other brands producing shoes that are variations on the theme of wooden clogs. so i needled, and whined, and bargained with the management, to try to get my gift card transformed into cash, to no avail. Finally, a laughing older couple enters and I’m told they are the buyers from Nike. I rush to the woman and excitedly ask her, “What do you know about the Cole Haan sandals? Do you like them?” She laughs and walks away. i’m still pissed at this, even though I’m awake and she’s a figment of my imagination.