Heels or flats?

The scent of wood was overpowering. Enticing. Nearly intoxicating. Machinery whined in the distance. Every minute or so a thump jolted the floor beneath their feet.

Trees, some longer than the trucks that delivered them, made their way through the parking lot to the holding area out back. She could have watched the unloading process for hours had there not been pressing issues at hand.

She turned her attention back to the man behind the counter. He wielded a calculator and pencil with such flair she wondered briefly if he was related to Paul Bunyon.

"...sixes and eights but if you go with random widths or anything larger than eights you'll have to surface nail 'em."

"I don't want to do that," Hubby said, shaking his head. "Not even with the boards pegged after nailing. That looks good but it's a pain--"

"In the--" The wood man stopped, glanced at her, then colored. He was young enough to be embarrassed but old enough to find his feet. "It's just a pain, is all. Now, are you thinking hard or soft? Dark or light? You gonna stain 'em or seal 'em?"

She nodded politely, then strolled back to the open door. A truck pulled into the lot loaded with fresh-cut logs. The driver parked beneath a crane and the unloading process began. Much more interesting than listening to the two men behind her talking wood.

A smile made her lips twitch. The men were obviously compelled to discuss options even though the decision for the family room flooring had been made months earlier. She didn't point that out, though. Instead she tuned the men out, knowing full well their talk was similar to countless discussion she'd had in shoe stores.

When she entered a shoe store with friends it never mattered if they knew what kind of shoes they were going to buy. The real fun was in trying on things they had no plans to purchase. To discuss the merits of a heel or the unsuitability of suede. In short, the adventure of shopping for shoes held more excitement than buying.

So she let them talk wood. They needed to do it, and she found her own kind of adventure watching logs move from truck to conveyor belt. She wondered idly if all loggers had such broad shoulders and rugged good looks.

Shoes. Wood. Loggers. Yeah, life was good.