My granny sits in her chair in front of the fire, black Crocs on her feet. She doesn't hear the nice lady who's staying the night with her, Margaret, the lady who comes to bathe her on Fridays. I'd asked her about her ankle, recovering from a break sustained while line-dancing.
'Why did you get the red ones?' my grandmother asks, mistaking Margaret's gesturing at her ankle as pointing towards the woman's own red Crocs. 'Were they on sale?'
I have to laugh, at her perfect insult, at the idea that red Crocs are gauche while black ones are acceptable. Of course, they're acceptable ,when you're ninety four with swollen ankles and all the rest. But there's still no call to be rude :)