Yesterday, my ayi brought me a new (or from the looks of them, almost new) pair of shoes.

Summer sandals with a wedged heel and orange, canvas straps.

They are cute, but very small and very narrow. And for me, very high.

I guess she thinks it’s time for me to dump my Keens and show a little leg.

We were in the kitchen when she unveiled them to me and the painter-man was propped on his ladder in the dining room, painting the ceiling and watching this whole thing unfurl.

“Take off your shoes,” she commanded. (in Chinese, of course)

I took off my giant, furry, winter slippers.

“And your socks.”

I looked up at Painter-man. He had stopped painting and was leaning low on the ladder so he could see us clearly through the doorway.

“Do you speak Chinese?” he asked, clearly impressed that I could understand my ayi.

I nodded. “A bit,” I said.

Zheng Mei tapped my leg. She doesn’t like when I talk I with the worker men. It’s her job to communicate with them and doesn’t like me to butt in.

“Take off your socks,” she repeated.

Painter-man was waiting.

I thought about my feet...my winter feet...protected for the last several months by wool socks and heavy boots. They were white and wintery, and my toenails were scraggly. I didn’t want anyone gawking at my feet just then.

“Socks, socks,” Zheng Mei said, losing patience and now believing I didn’t understand the Chinese word for “socks.”

I took off my socks.

She leaned down and lifted my leg, nudging my left foot into the shoe.

“Where did you buy these?” I asked.

“Huaihai Lu.”

Oh, geez.

Painter-man leaned deeper into the kitchen for a better look. The rung on his makeshift ladder snapped under his weight. I said, “Oh, be careful,” but he just adjusted his position and continued watching.

Zheng Mei shoved my right foot into the other shoe.

I looked down.

The shoes were too small. My feet looked like two rainbow trout stuffed into sandals. My heel hung over the edge. Bits of foot squeezed out over the sides.

Zheng Mei clapped her hands. “Beautiful!”

Painter-man nodded.

“Walk!” she commanded.

I looked at her.

“Walk! Walk!” and she pointed to the dining room.

Oh, for god’s sake.

I walked. To the refrigerator and back.

“No, no, no,” she said. And then she walked, showing me, I guess, the appropriate way to walk in high-heels. I see many girls in Shanghai wearing heels and walking this same way...awkwardly and seemingly painfully.

I walked again, imitating Zheng Mei’s walk by hunching a bit and raising my knees as if I were marching.

Zheng Mei clapped and nodded. “Beautiful! Beautiful!”

I took off the shoes, pulled my socks on, and stepped back into my slippers.

Painter-man began to paint.

Zheng Mei ran off to put the shoes in what is now my “summer shoe cupboard.”

I could feel the rhythm of the household returning to normal.