He Said Hush by Eric Sparks

But it couldn’t have been directed at me, because
I crept silently across his room in a purple dress
(he says it reminds him of Barney), while holding
my tall, shiny heels. More likely, he was complaining to
the noisy street sweeper cleaning the alley below us.
He didn’t stir again, but I was still scared because I know his doorknob
sticks. I gave the door a quick twist and heave, hoping the speed
would overpower the noise and he would remain fast asleep.

Once outside, I regretted leaving.
It was cold and early and I couldn’t decide whether to
walk in my heels or carry them. An elderly lady, certainly
a grandmother, walked by in boxy black shoes.
My heart cried with jealousy and my mouth screamed ridiculously.
“How much for the shoes!?” but grandma assumed I was on drugs
and only quickened her pace.

During my walk home, I thought of the night before.
He had told me I had flat knockers and was as useful
as an empty dishpan. If he wondered why I left before
he awoke, he wouldn’t have to wonder much.